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•D -ROBERTS  I 


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Ube  Ikinbreb  of  the  TOU> 

a  Boofc  of  Hnimal  Utfe 


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THE  HAUNTERS  OF  THE  SILENCES        .        .    $2.00 

RED  Fox 2.00 

THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  TRAILS  .  .  .  2.00 
THE  KINDRED  OF  THE  WILD  .  .  .  2.00 

EARTH'S  ENIGMAS 1.50 

THE  HEART  OF  THE  ANCIENT  WOOD  .        .      1.50 
THE  HEART  THAT  KNOWS      ....      1.50 

THE  PRISONER  OF  MADEMOISELLE        .        .      1.50 
BARBARA  LADD       .        .        .        .        .        .1.50 

THE  FORGE  IN  THE  FOREST          .        .        .      1.50 
A  SISTER  TO  EVANGELINE     ....      1.50 

BY  THE  MARSHES  OF  MINAS  ....      1.50 

CAMERON  OF  LOCHIEL  (translated)         .        .1.50 

THE  YOUNG  ACADIAN 50 

THE  CRUISE  OF  THE  YACHT  "Dioo"  .  .  .50 
THE  HAUNTER  OF  THE  PINE  GLOOM  .  .  .50 

THE  LORD  OF  THE  AIR 50 

THE  KING  OF  THE  MAMOZEKEL  ...  .50 
THE  WATCHERS  OF  THE  CAMP-FIRE  .  .  .50 
THE  RETURN  TO  THE  TRAILS  ...  .50 
THE  LITTLE  PEOPLE  OF  THE  SYCAMORE  .  .50 

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"STARTED    IN    MAD    HASTE    DOWN   THE    SHORE.' 


THE  •  KINDRED 
OF  •  THE  •  WILD 

A-500K-  OF  -ANIMAL-  LIFE  ' 

CHARLES •  GD  ROBERTS 

if 

Author  of 

*The  Heart  of  the JlncientWood 
ge  in  the  forest 
A  Sister  to 

€,  Evdngeli 

roems  etc-.      * 


With  ma. 

illustrations,  IMHT  lAWfiSTXW 

BULL 


ity 

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PUBLISHERS         BOSTON 


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Published,  May,  1902 


Tenth    Impression,   July,    1907 


Colonial 

Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  C.  H.  SImonds  &  Co. 

Boston.  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


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196502 


Contents  of  the  Booh 


PAGE 

ZTbe  Hnfmal  StorsO) 15 

Ube  fl&ooniigbt  Urails                         .  33 

Ube  OLorfc  of  tbe  Hit 55 

MiR>  /iDotberboofc     *      .     ' .      .      *  93 

Ube  Ittomestcftness  of  Ifcebonfea     »      »  117 

Savours  /iDeats 143 

Ube  Bos  anfc  IHusbwtno  *      »      .      »  159 

H  Ureason  of  Mature                          *  181 

Cbe  Ibaunter  of  tbe  pine  Gloom  .      »  199 

Ube  Watcbers  of  tbe  Camp^ffire  »      »  241 
mben  Uwiliabt  ifalls  on  tbe  Stump 

Xots 273 

Ube  Iking  of  tbe  /iDamoseftel  ,      »      »  287 

In  panoply  of  Spears      *  349 

bg  permisaion  of  tbe  "University  Society 
vii 


H  %ist  of  the 
2Drawino8  in  the  Booh 


Hnfmal 

"  THE   SNIFFINGS    OF    THE    BAFFLED    BEAR    OR 

TIGER" 

"THE  INSCRUTABLE  EYES  OF  ALL  THE  CATS" 


TTbe 


Uratls 


"ALL     THE     PLAYERS     WERE     MOTIONLESS,     WITH 

EARS   ONE   WAY"       .  . 

"  IT  WAS   BEYOND   HIS   REACH  "       .  .  .  . 

ttbe  %orfc  of  tbe  Hit      ..... 

"HE   SAW   HIS   WIDE  -WINGED   MATE,   TOO,   LEAVE 
THE   NEST"        ....... 

"  HOLDING  THE  FISH  FIRMLY  IN  THE  CLUTCH  OF 

ONE  GREAT  TALON"       ..... 

«  HELPLESSLY  INTERTANGLED  IN  THE  MESHES  "  . 

"THEY   FLOCKED  BLACKLY  ABOUT  WITH  VITU- 

PERATIVE MALICE"          ..... 

TKfttlfc  /IDotberboofc     ...... 

"  LED    HIS    HERD   OFF   NORTHWARD  "... 

U 


PAGE 
13 

17 
25 

31 

37 
49 
53 

57 

65 
79 

83 

9i 
95 


H  Xist  of  tbe  jfulUpage  Drawings 


PAGE 


"  STOOD   FOR   A    MOMENT   TO    SNIFF   THE   AIR  "        .         99 
"AROUND   ITS   RIM  CIRCLED   THE  WARY   MOTHER5'       105 

Ube  Homesickness  of  Ikebonfea .      .      .us 

"  HE  WOULD  STAND  MOTIONLESS,  HIS  COMPACT, 

GLOSSY  HEAD  HIGH  IN  AIR"  .  .  .  .125 

"  FELL  WITH  A  GREAT  SPLASH  INTO  THE  CHAN- 
NEL OF  THE  TANTRAMAR  "  .  .  .  .  133 

"  THE  DISCOURAGER  OF  QUESTS  DARTED  STEALTH- 
ILY FORTH" 137 

Savours  /iDeats 141 

"TWO  GREEN  EYES,  CLOSE  TO  THE  GROUND"   .   153 

Ube  350£  anfc  Musbwing 157 

"HE    STRUCK    THE   EMPTY    AIR"      .  .  .  .165 

"  SETTLED  HIMSELF,  MUCH  DISCONCERTED,  ON 

THE  BACK  OF  AN  OLD  HAIRCLOTH  SOFA"   .   i;i 

H  treason  of  IRature 179 

"HE  GAVE  ANSWER  AT  ONCE  TO  THE  SUMMONS"     187 
"  STARTED  IN   MAD  HASTE  DOWN  THE   SHORE  " 

(See  page  189)          ....        Frontispiece 

"  HE    DUG    HIS    CLAWS    DEEPER    INTO    THE    BARK, 

AND   BARED    HIS    FANGS    THIRSTILY"          .  .       19! 

ZTbe  Haunter  of  tbe  pine  (Bloom     .      .   197 

"THE  BIG  BEAST  LITTLE  IMAGINED  HIMSELF  OB- 
SERVED"  203 

"A   GREAT   LYNX   LANDED    ON    THE   LOG"        .  .      2O7 

"PRESENTLY  THE  LUCIFEE  AROSE  AND  BEGAN 

CREEPING  STEALTHILY  CLOSER"  .  .  .213 

"A      SILENT      GRAY      THUNDERBOLT      FELL      UPON 

HIM" 217 

"YAWNED     HUGELY,     AND     STRETCHED     HERSELF 

LIKE   A   CAT" 223 


H  Xfst  of  tbe  ffuiUlPage  Drawings     xi 

PAGE 

"  MOUNTED  THE  CARCASS  WITH  AN  AIR  OF  LORD- 
SHIP"   229 

Gbe  TKnatcbers  of  tbe  Camp^ffire    .      .  239 

"  HIS  BIG,  SPREADING  PAWS  CARRIED  HIM  OVER 
ITS  SURFACE  AS  IF  HE  HAD  BEEN  SHOD  WITH 
SNOW-SHOES" 243 

"  HE  PUSHED  THE  BALL  AGAIN,  VERY,  VERY  DELI- 
CATELY "  249 

"STOLE    NOISELESSLY    TOWARD    THE    SHINING 

LOVELY  THING" 259 

TUnben  Uwiligbt  ffalls  on  tbe  Stump  Xots   271 

"SHE    STRUGGLED    STRAIGHT    TOWARD     THE     DEN 

THAT   HELD    HER   YOUNG"         .  .  .  .      28l 

Ube  Icing  of  tbe  flDamosefeel      .      .      .285 

«*  THE   CALF   STOOD   CLOSE  BY,  WATCHING   WITH 

INTEREST" 293 

"  THE    MOTHER    MALLARD    WOULD     FLOAT     AMID 

HER  BROOD" 301 

"BUT    THEY    FELL    SHORT    OF     THEIR    INTENDED 

MARK" 309 

"  THICK  PILED  THE  SNOWS  ABOUT  THE  LITTLE 

HERD" 319 

"WAS  OFF  THROUGH  THE  UNDERBRUSH  IN  IGNO- 
MINIOUS FLIGHT" 335 

"  IT    WAS     FEAR     ITSELF     THAT     HE    WAS     WIPING 

OUT"        .  ....    343 

Un  panoply  of  Spears 347 

"  THE    BEAR    EYED    HIM    FOR    SOME    MOMENTS "        .      353 
"A     WEASEL     GLIDED     NOISELESSLY     UP     TO     THE 

DOOR    OF    THE    DEN  ".....      369 


Cbe 

IRinbreb  of  tbe  DWilb 


Ifntrobuctor^ 

Hnimal  Qtovp 


[LIKE  in  matter  and  in  method,  the  animal 
story,  as  we  have  it  to-day,  may  be  re- 
garded as  a  culmination.  The  animal 
story,  of  course,  in  one  form  or  another,  is  as 
old  as  the  beginnings  of  literature.  Perhaps  the 
most  engrossing  part  in  the  life-drama  of  prim- 
itive man  was  that  played  by  the  beasts  which  he 
hunted,  and  by  those  which  hunted  him.  They 
pressed  incessantly  upon  his  perceptions.  They 
furnished  both  material  and  impulse  for  his  first 
gropings  toward  pictorial  art.  When  he  acquired 
the  kindred  art  of  telling  a  story,  they  supplied  his 
earliest  themes;  and  they  suggested  the  hieroglyphs 
by  means  of  which,  on  carved  bone  or  painted  rock, 

15 


16  ZTbe  Ikfnbret)  of  tbe  TPdUIO 

he  first  gave  his  narrative  a  form  to  outlast  the 
spoken  breath.  We  may  not  unreasonably  infer 
that  the  first  animal  story  —  the  remote  but  au- 
thentic ancestor  of  "  Mowgli  "  and  "  Lobo  "  and 
"  Krag  "  —  was  a  story  of  some  successful  hunt, 
when  success  meant  life  to  the  starving  family;  or 
of  some  desperate  escape,  when  the  truth  of  the 
narrative  was  attested,  to  the  hearers  squatted 
trembling  about  their  fire,  by  the  sniffings  of  the 
baffled  bear  or  tiger  at  the  rock-barred  mouth  of 
the  cave.  Such  first  animal  stories  had  at  least  one 
merit  of  prime  literary  importance.  They  were 
convincing.  The  first  critic,  however  supercilious, 
would  be  little  likely  to  cavil  at  their  verisimilitude. 
Somewhat  later,  when  men  had  begun  to  harass 
their  souls,  and  their  neighbours,  with  problems  of 
life  and  conduct,  then  these  same  animals,  hourly 
and  in  every  aspect  thrust  beneath  the  eyes  of 
their  observation,  served  to  point  the  moral  of  their 
tales.  The  beasts,  not  being  in  a  position  to  resent 
the  ignoble  office  thrust  upon  them,  were  compelled 
to  do  duty  as  concrete  types  of  those  obvious  vir- 
tues and  vices  of  which  alone  the  unsophisticated 
ethical  sense  was  ready  to  take  cognisance.  In  this 
way,  as  soon  as  composition  became  a  metier,  was 
born  the  fable ;  and  in  this  way  the  ingenuity  of  the 


"THE    SNIFFINGS    OF    THE   BAFFLED    BEAR   OR   TIGER. 


ZTbe  animal  Stors  *9 

first  author  enabled  him  to  avoid  a  perilous  unpop- 
ularity among  those  whose  weaknesses  and  defects 
his  art  held  up  to  the  scorn  of  all  the  caves. 

These  earliest  observers  of  animal  life  were  com- 
pelled by  the  necessities  of  the  case  to  observe  truly, 
if  not  deeply.  Pitting  their  wits  against  those  of 
their  four-foot  rivals,  they  had  to  know  their  an- 
tagonists, and  respect  them,  in  order  to  overcome 
them.  But  it  was  only  the  most  salient  character- 
istics of  each  species  that  concerned  the  practical 
observer.  It  was  simple  to  remember  that  the  tiger 
was  cruel,  the  fox  cunning,  the  wolf  rapacious. 
And  so,  as  advancing  civilisation  drew  an  ever 
widening  line  between  man  and  the  animals,  and 
men  became  more  and  more  engrossed  in  the  inter- 
ests of  their  own  kind,  the  personalities  of  the  wild 
creatures  which  they  had  once  known  so  well  be- 
came obscured  to  them,  and  the  creatures  them- 
selves came  to  be  regarded,  for  the  purposes  of 
literature,  as  types  or  symbols  merely,  —  except 
in  those  cases,  equally  obstructive  to  exact  observa- 
tion, where  they  were  revered  as  temporary  tene- 
ments of  the  spirits  of  departed  kinsfolk.  The 
characters  in  that  great  beast-epic  of  the  middle 
ages,  "  Reynard  the  Fox,"  though  far  more  elab- 
orately limned  than  those  which  play  their  succinct 


*o  ftbe  ftfnbreb  of  tbe  IWUtt) 

roles  in  the  fables  of  ^Esop,  are  at  the  same  time 
in  their  elaboration  far  more  alien  to  the  truths  of 
wild  nature.  Reynard,  Isegrim,  Bruin,  and  Grey- 
beard have  little  resemblance  to  the  fox,  the  wolf, 
the  bear,  and  the  badger,  as  patience,  sympathy,  and 
the  camera  reveal  them  to  us  to-day. 

The  advent  of  Christianity,  strange  as  it  may 
seem  at  first  glance,  did  not  make  for  a  closer 
understanding  between  man  and  the  lower  animals. 
While  it  was  militant,  fighting  for  its  life  against 
the  forces  of  paganism,  its  effort  was  to  set  man  at 
odds  with  the  natural  world,  and  fill  his  eyes  with 
the  wonders  of  the  spiritual.  Man  was  the  only 
thing  of  consequence  on  earth,  and  of  man,  not  his 
body,  but  his  soul.  Nature  was  the  ally  of  the 
enemy.  The  way  of  nature  was  the  way  of  death. 
In  man  alone  was  the  seed  of  the  divine.  Of  what 
concern  could  be  the  joy  or  pain  of  creatures  of  no 
soul,  to-morrow  returning  to  the  dust?  To  strenu- 
ous spirits,  their  eyes  fixed  upon  the  fear  of  hell 
for  themselves,  and  the  certainty  of  it  for  their 
neighbours,  it  smacked  of  sin  to  take  thought  of 
the  feelings  of  such  evanescent  products  of  cor- 
ruption. Hence  it  came  that,  in  spite  of  the  gentle 
understanding  of  such  sweet  saints  as  Francis  of 
Assisi,  Anthony  of  Padua,  and  Colomb  of  the  Bees, 


ttbe  Snimal  Storg  21 

the  inarticulate  kindred  for  a  long  time  reaped  small 
comfort  from  the  Dispensation  of  Love. 

With  the  spread  of  freedom  and  the  broadening 
out  of  all  intellectual  interests  which  characterise 
these  modern  days,  the  lower  kindreds  began  to 
regain  their  old  place  in  the  concern  of  man.  The 
revival  of  interest  in  the  animals  found  literary 
expression  (to  classify  roughly)  in  two  forms, 
which  necessarily  overlap  each  other  now  and  then, 
viz.,  the  story  of  adventure  and  the  anecdote  of 
observation.  Hunting  as  a  recreation,  pursued  with 
zest  from  pole  to  tropics  by  restless  seekers  after 
the  new,  supplied  a  species  of  narrative  singularly 
akin  to  what  the  first  animal  stories  must  have  been, 
—  narratives  of  desperate  encounter,  strange  peril, 
and  hairbreadth  escape.  Such  hunters'  stories  and 
travellers'  tales  are  rarely  conspicuous  for  the  exact- 
itude of  their  observation;  but  that  was  not  the 
quality  at  first  demanded  of  them  by  fireside  readers. 
The  attention  of  the  writer  was  focussed,  not  upon 
the  peculiarities  or  the  emotions  of  the  beast  pro- 
tagonist in  each  fierce,  brief  drama,  but  upon  the 
thrill  of  the  action,  the  final  triumph  of  the  human 
actor.  The  inevitable  tendency  of  these  stories  of 
adventure  with  beasts  was  to  awaken  interest  in 
animals,  and  to  excite  a  desire  for  exact  knowledge 


**  ftbe  Ifcinbreb  of  tbe  TPGUifc 

of  their  traits  and  habits.  The  interest  and  the 
desire  evoked  the  natural  historian,  the  inheritor  of 
the  half-forgotten  mantle  of  Pliny.  Precise  and 
patient  scientists  made  the  animals  their  care,  ob- 
serving with  microscope  and  measure,  comparing 
bones,  assorting  families,  subdividing  subdivisions, 
till  at  length  all  the  beasts  of  significance  to  man 
were  ticketed  neatly,  and  laid  bare,  as  far  as  the 
inmost  fibre  of  their  material  substance  was  con- 
cerned, to  the  eye  of  popular  information. 

Altogether  admirable  and  necessary  as  was  this 
development  at  large,  another,  of  richer  or  at  least 
more  spiritual  significance,  was  going  on  at  home. 
Folk  who  loved  their  animal  comrades — their  dogs, 
horses,  cats,  parrots,  elephants  —  were  observ- 
ing, with  the  wonder  and  interest  of  discoverers, 
the  astonishing  fashion  in  which  the  mere  instincts 
of  these  so-called  irrational  creatures  were  able  to 
simulate  the  operations  of  reason.  The  results  of 
this  observation  were  written  down,  till  "  anecdotes 
of  animals  "  came  to  form  a  not  inconsiderable  body 
of  literature.  The  drift  of  all  these  data  was  over- 
whelmingly toward  one  conclusion.  The  mental 
processes  of  the  animals  observed  were  seen  to  be 
far  more  complex  than  the  observers  had  supposed. 
Where  instinct  was  called  in  to  account  for  the  elab- 


Hnirnal  £tor#  33 

orate  ingenuity  with  which  a  dog  would  plan  and 
accomplish  the  outwitting  of  a  rival,  or  the  nice 
judgment  with  which  an  elephant,  with  no  nest- 
building  ancestors  behind  him  to  instruct  his  brain, 
would  choose  and  adjust  the  teak-logs  which  he  was 
set  to  pile,  it  began  to  seem  as  if  that  faithful 
faculty  was  being  overworked.  To  explain  yet 
other  cases,  which  no  accepted  theory  seemed  to  fit, 
coincidence  was  invoked,  till  that  rare  and  elusive 
phenomenon  threatened  to  become  as  customary 
as  buttercups.  But  when  instinct  and  coincidence 
had  done  all  that  could  be  asked  of  them,  there  re- 
mained a  great  unaccounted-for  body  of  facts ;  and 
men  were  forced  at  last  to  accept  the  proposition 
that,  within  their  varying  limitations,  animals  can 
and  do  reason.  As  far,  at  least,  as  the  mental 
intelligence  is  concerned,  the  gulf  dividing  the  lowest 
of  the  human  species  from  the  highest  of  the  animals 
has  in  these  latter  days  been  reduced  to  a  very 
narrow  psychological  fissure. 

Whether  avowedly  or  not,  it  is  with  the  psy- 
chology of  animal  life  that  the  representative  animal 
stories  of  to-day  are  first  of  all  concerned.  Looking 
deep  into  the  eyes  of  certain  of  the  four-footed 
kindred,  we  have  been  startled  to  see  therein  a  some- 
thing, before  unrecognised,  that  answered  to  our 


24  Ube  Iktufcrefc  of  tbe  TOtifc 

inner  and  intellectual,  if  not  spiritual  selves.  We 
have  suddenly  attained  a  new  and  clearer  vision. 
We  have  come  face  to  face  with  personality,  where 
we  were  blindly  wont  to  predicate  mere  instinct  and 
automatism.  It  is  as  if  one  should  step  carelessly 
out  of  one's  back  door,  and  marvel  to  see  unrolling 
before  his  new-awakened  eyes  the  peaks  and  seas 
and  misty  valleys  of  an  unknown  world.  Our  chief 
writers  of  animal  stories  at  the  present  day  may  be 
regarded  as  explorers  of  this  unknown  world, 
absorbed  in  charting  its  topography.  They 
work,  indeed,  upon  a  substantial  foundation  of 
known  facts.  They  are  minutely  scrupulous  as  to 
their  natural  history,  and  assiduous  contributors  to 
that  science.  But  above  all  are  they  diligent  in  their 
search  for  the  motive  beneath  the  action.  Their 
care  is  to  catch  the  varying,  elusive  personalities 
which  dwell  back  of  the  luminous  brain  windows 
of  the  dog,  the  horse,  the  deer,  or  wrap  themselves 
in  reserve  behind  the  inscrutable  eyes  of  all  the  cats, 
or  sit  aloof  in  the  gaze  of  the  hawk  and  the  eagle. 
The  animal  story  at  its  highest  point  of  develop- 
ment is  a  psychological  romance  constructed  on  a 
framework  of  natural  science. 

The  real  psychology  of  the  animals,  so  far  as  we 
are  able  to  grope  our  way  toward  it  by  deduction 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

4\b* 


ZTbe  Hntmal  Story  27 

and  induction  combined,  is  a  very  different  thing 
from  the  psychology  of  certain  stories  of  animals 
which  paved  the  way  for  the  present  vogue.  Of 
these,  such  books  as  "  Beautiful  Joe  "  and  "  Black 
Beauty  "  are  deservedly  conspicuous  examples.  It 
is  no  detraction  from  the  merit  of  these  books,  which 
have  done  great  service  in  awakening  a  sympathetic 
understanding  of  the  animals  and  sharpening  our 
sense  of  kinship  with  all  that  breathe,  to  say  that 
their  psychology  is  human.  Their  animal  charac- 
ters think  and  feel  as  human  beings  would  think 
and  feel  under  like  conditions.  This  marks  the 
stage  which  these  works  occupy  in  the  development 
of  the  animal  story. 

The  next  stage  must  be  regarded  as,  in  literature, 
a  climax  .indeed,  but  not  the  climax  in  this  genre. 
I  refer  to  the  "  Mowgli "  stories  of  Mr.  Kipling. 
In  these  tales  the  animals  are  frankly  humanised. 
Their  individualisation  is  distinctly  human,  as  are 
also  their  mental  and  emotional  processes,  and  their 
highly  elaborate  powers  of  expression.  Their  no- 
tions are  complex;  whereas  the  motives  of  real 
animals,  so  far  as  we  have  hitherto  been  able  to 
judge  them,  seem  to  be  essentially  simple,  in  the 
sense  that  the  motive  dominant  at  a  given  moment 
quite  obliterates,  for  the  time,  all  secondary  motives. 


28  ube  -fctufcrefc  of  tbe 

Their  reasoning  powers  and  their  constructive 
imagination  are  far  beyond  anything  which  present 
knowledge  justifies  us  in  ascribing  to  the  inarticulate 
kindreds.  To  say  this  is  in  no  way  to  depreciate 
such  work,  but  merely  to  classify  it.  There  are 
stories  being  written  now  which,  for  interest  and 
artistic  value,  are  not  to  be  mentioned  in  the  same 
breath  with  the  "  Mowgli  "  tales,  but  which  never- 
theless occupy  a  more  advanced  stage  in  the  evolu- 
tion of  this  genre. 

It  seems  to  me  fairly  safe  to  say  that  this  evolu- 
tion is  not  likely  to  go  beyond  the  point  to  which 
it  has  been  carried  to-day.  In  such  a  story,  for 
instance,  as  that  of  "  Krag,  the  Kootenay  Ram,"  by 
Mr.  Ernest  Seton,  the  interest  centres  about  the  per- 
sonality, individuality,  mentality,  of  an  animal,  as 
well  as  its  purely  physical  characteristics.  The  field 
of  animal  psychology  so  admirably  opened  is  an 
inexhaustible  world  of  wonder.  Sympathetic  ex- 
ploration may  advance  its  boundaries  to  a  degree  of 
which  we  hardly  dare  to  dream ;  but  such  expansion 
cannot  be  called  evolution.  There  would  seem  to 
be  no  further  evolution  possible,  unless  based  upon 
a  hypothesis  that  animals  have  souls.  As  souls 
are  apt  to  elude  exact  observation,  to  forecast  any 
such  development  would  seem  to  be  at  best  merely 
fanciful. 


Enimal  Stot£  29 

The  animal  story,  as  we  now  have  it,  is  a  potent 
emancipator.  It  frees  us  for  a  little  from  the  world 
of  shop-worn  utilities,  and  from  the  mean  tenement 
of  self  of  which  we  do  well  to  grow  weary.  It  helps 
us  to  return  to  nature,  without  requiring  that  we  at 
the  same  time  return  to  barbarism.  It  leads  us  back 
to  the  old  kinship  of  earth,  without  asking  us  to 
relinquish  by  way  of  toll  any  part  of  the  wisdom 
of  the  ages,  any  fine  essential  of  the  "  large  result 
of  time."  The  clear  and  candid  life  to  which  it  re- 
initiates us,  far  behind  though  it  lies  in  the  long 
upward  march  of  being,  holds  for  us  this  quality. 
It  has  ever  the  more  significance,  it  has  ever  the 
richer  gift  of  refreshment  and  renewal,  the  more 
humane  the  heart  and  spiritual  the  understanding 
which  we  bring  to  the  intimacy  of  it. 


ftbe  flDooniiflbt  Sraite 

| HERE  was  no  wind.  The  young  fir- 
trees  stood  up  straight  and  tall  and  stiffly 
pointed  from  the  noiseless  white  levels 
of  the  snow.  The  blue-white  moon  of  midwinter, 
sharply  glittering  like  an  icicle,  hung  high  in  a 
heaven  clear  as  tempered  steel. 

The  young  fir-trees  were  a  second  growth,  on 
lands  once  well  cleared,  but  afterward  reclaimed  by 
the  forest.  They  rose  in  serried  phalanxes,  with 
here  and  there  a  solitary  sentinel  of  spruce,  and 
here  and  there  a  little  huddling  group  of  yellow 
birches.  The  snow-spaces  between  formed  spark- 
ling alleys,  and  long,  mysterious  vistas,  expanding 
frequently  into  amphitheatres  of  breathless  stillness 
and  flooding  radiance.  There  was  no  trace  of  that 
most  ghostly  and  elusive  winter  haze  which  repre- 
sents the  fine  breathing  of  the  forest.  Rather  the 
air  seemed  like  diamonds  held  in  solution,  fluent  as 
by  miracle,  and  not  without  strange  peril  to  be 
jarred  by  sound  or  motion. 

33 


34  ttbe  Tkinfcrefc  ot  tbe 

Yet  presently  the  exaggerated  tension  of  the 
stillness  was  broken,  and  no  disaster  followed.  Two 
small,  white,  furry  shapes  came  leaping,  one  behind 
the  other,  down  a  corridor  of  radiance,  as  lightly 
as  if  a  wind  were  lifting  and  drifting  them.  It 
was  as  if  some  of  the  gentler  spirits  of  the  winter 
and  the  wild  had  seized  the  magic  hour  for  an 
incarnation.  Leaping  at  gay  leisure,  their  little 
bodies  would  lengthen  out  to  a  span  of  nearly  three 
feet,  then  round  themselves  together  so  that  the 
soft  pads  of  their  hinder  paws  would  touch  the 
snow  within  a  couple  of  inches  of  the  prints  from 
which  their  fore  paws  were  even  then  starting  to 
rise.  The  trail  thus  drawn  down  the  white  aisle 
consisted  of  an  orderly  succession  of  close  tripli- 
cate bunches  of  footprints,  like  no  other  trail  of  the 
wild  folk.  From  time  to  time  the  two  harmonious 
shapes  would  halt,  sit  up  on  their  hindquarters,  erect 
their  long,  attentive  ears,  glance  about  warily  with 
their  bulging  eyes  which,  in  this  position,  could  see 
behind  as  well  as  in  front  of  their  narrow  heads, 
wrinkle  those  cleft  nostrils  which  were  cunning 
to  differentiate  every  scent  upon  the  sharp  air,  and 
then  browse  hastily  but  with  a  cheerful  relish  at 
the  spicy  shoots  of  the  young  yellow  birch.  Feed- 
ing, however,  was  plainly  not  their  chief  purpose. 


/iDooniigbt  trails  35 

Always  within  a  few  moments  they  would  resume 
their  leaping  progress  through  the  white  glitter  and 
the  hard,  black  shadows. 

Very  soon  their  path  led  them  out  into  a  wide 
glade,  fenced  all  about  with  the  serried  and  formal 
ranks  of  the  young  firs.  It  seemed  as  if  the  blue- 
white  moon  stared  down  into  this  space  with  a 
glassiness  of  brilliance  even  more  deluding  and 
magical  than  elsewhere.  The  snow  here  was  crossed 
by  a  tangle  of  the  fine  triplicate  tracks.  Doubling 
upon  themselves  in  all  directions  and  with  obvious 
irresponsibility,  they  were  evidently  the  trails  of 
play  rather  than  of  business  or  of  flight.  Their 
pattern  was  the  pattern  of  mirth;  and  some  half 
dozen  wild  white  rabbits  were  gaily  weaving  at  it 
when  the  twro  newcomers  joined  them.  Long  ears 
twinkling,  round  eyes  softly  shining,  they  leaped 
lightly  hither  and  thither,  pausing  every  now  and 
then  to  touch  each  other  with  their  sensitive  noses, 
or  to  pound  on  the  snow  with  their  strong  hind  legs 
in  mock  challenge.  It  seemed  to  be  the  play  of 
care-free  children,  almost  a  kind  of  confused  dance, 
a  spontaneous  expression  of  the  joy  of  life.  Never- 
theless, for  all  the  mirth  of  it,  there  was  never  a 
moment  when  two  or  more  of  the  company  were 
not  to  be  seen  sitting  erect,  with  watchful  ears  and 


36  Ube  Ikinbrefc  of  tbe 

eyes,  close  in  the  shadow  of  the  young  fir-trees. 
For  the  night  that  was  so  favourable  to  the  wild 
rabbits  was  favourable  also  to  the  fox,  the  wildcat, 
and  the  weasel.  And  death  stalks  joy  forever 
among  the  kindred  of  the  wild. 

From  time  to  time  one  or  another  of  the  leaping 
players  would  take  himself  off  through  the  fir-trees, 
while  others  continued  to  arrive  along  the  moon- 
light trails.  This  went  on  till  the  moon  had  swung 
perhaps  an  hour's  distance  on  her  shining  course; 
then,  suddenly  it  stopped;  and  just  for  a  fleeting 
fraction  of  a  breath  all  the  players  were  motionless, 
with  ears  one  way.  From  one  or  another  of  the 
watchers  there  had  come  some  signal,  swift,  but  to 
the  rabbits  instantly  clear.  No  onlooker  not  of 
the  cleft-nose,  long-ear  clan  could  have  told  in  what 
the  signal  consisted,  or  what  was  its  full  signifi- 
cance. But  whatever  it  was,  in  a  moment  the  players 
were  gone,  vanishing  to  the  east  and  west  and 
south,  all  at  once,  as  if  blown  off  by  a  mighty  breath. 
Only  toward  the  north  side  of  the  open  there  went 
not  one. 

Nevertheless,  the  moon,  peering  down  with  sharp 
scrutiny  into  the  unshadowed  northern  fringes  of 
the  open,  failed  to  spy  out  any  lurking  shape  of 
fox,  wildcat,  or  weasel.  Whatever  the  form  in 


j 


ALL   THE    PLAYERS    WERE    MOTIONLESS,    WITH    EARS   ONE    WAY.' 


flDoonliafot  Urails  39 

which  fate  had  approached,  it  chose  not  to  unmask 
its  menace.  Thereafter,  for  an  hour  or  more,  the 
sparkling  glade  with  its  woven  devices  was  empty. 
Then,  throughout  the  rest  of  the  night,  an  occa- 
sional rabbit  would  go  bounding  across  it  hastily, 
on  affairs  intent,  and  paying  no  heed  to  its  signifi- 
cant hieroglyphs.  And  once,  just  before  moon-set, 
came  a  large  red  fox  and  sniffed  about  the  tangled 
trails  with  an  interest  not  untinged  with  scorn. 

ii. 

The  young  fir  wood  covered  a  tract  of  poor  land 
some  miles  in  width,  between  the  outskirts  of  the 
ancient  forest  and  a  small  settlement  known  as 
Far  Bazziley.  In  the  best  house  of  Far  Bazziley  — 
that  of  the  parish  clergyman  —  there  lived  a  boy 
whom  chance,  and  the  capricious  destiny  of  the 
wild  folk,  led  to  take  a  sudden  lively  interest  in 
the  moonlight  trails.  Belonging  to  a  different  class 
from  the  other  children  of  the  settlement,  he  was 
kept  from  the  district  school  and  tutored  at  home, 
with  more  or  less  regularity,  by  his  father.  His 
lesson  hours,  as  a  rule,  fell  when  the  other  boys 
were  busy  at  their  chores  —  and  it  was  the  tradition 
of  Far  Bazziley  that  boys  were  born  to  work,  not 
play.  Thus  it  happened  that  the  boy  had  little 
of  the  companionship  of  his  fellows. 


40  Ube  Ikiufcrefc  of  tbe 

Being  of  too  eager  and  adventurous  a  spirit  to 
spend  much  of  his  leisure  in  reading,  he  was  thrown 
upon  his  own  resources,  and  often  found  himself 
hungry  for  new  interests.  Animals  he  loved,  and 
of  all  cruelty  toward  them  he  was  fiercely  intolerant. 
Great  or  small,  it  hurt  him  to  see  them  hurt;  and 
he  was  not  slow  to  resent  and  resist  that  kind  of 
discomfort. 

On  more  than  one  occasion  he  had  thrashed  other 
boys  of  the  settlement  for  torturing,  with  boyish 
playfulness  and  ingenuity,  superfluous  kittens  which 
thrifty  housewives  had  confided  to  them  to  drown. 
These  rough  interferences  with  custom  did  him  no 
harm,  for  the  boys  were  forced  to  respect  his  prow- 
ess, and  they  knew  well  enough  that  kittens  had 
some  kind  of  claim  upon  civilisation.  But  when  it 
came  to  his  overbearing  championship  of  snakes, 
that  was  another  matter,  and  he  made  himself  un- 
popular. It  was  rank  tyranny,  and  disgustingly 
unnatural,  if  they  could  not  crush  a  snake's  back 
with  stones  and  then  lay  it  out  in  the  sun  to  die 
gradually,  without  the  risk  of  getting  a  black  eye 
and  bloodied  nose  for  it. 

It  was  in  vain  the  boy  explained,  on  the  incon- 
trovertible authority  of  his  father,  that  the  brilliant 
garter-snake,  the  dainty  little  green  snake,  and 


llbe  fl&oonlfgbt  trails  41 

indeed  all  the  snakes  of  the  neighbourhood  without 
exception,  were  as  harmless  as  lady-bugs.  A  snake 
was  a  snake;  and  in  the  eyes  of  Far  Bazziley  to 
kill  one,  with  such  additions  of  painfulness  in  the 
process  as  could  be  devised  on  the  moment,  was 
to  obey  Biblical  injunction.  The  boy,  not  unnatu- 
rally, was  thrust  more  and  more  into  the  lonely 
eminence  of  his  isolation. 

But  one  unfailing  resource  he  had  always  with 
him,  and  that  was  the  hired  man.  His  mother  might 
be,  as  she  usually  was,  too  absorbed  in  household 
cares  to  give  adequate  heed  to  his  searching  interro- 
gations. His  father  might  spend  huge  blanks  of 
his  time  in  interminable  drives  to  outlying  parts 
of  his  parish.  But  the  hired  man  was  always  at 
hand.  It  was  not  always  the  same  hired  man.  But 
whether  his  name  were  Bill  or  Tom,  Henry  or  Mart 
or  Chris,  the  boy  found  that  he  could  safely  look 
for  some  uniformity  of  characteristics,  and  that 
he  could  depend  upon  each  in  turn  for  some  teaching 
that  seemed  to  him  more  practical  and  timely  than 
equations  or  the  conjugation  of  nolo,  nolle,  nolui. 

At  this  particular  time  of  the  frequenting  of 
the  moonlight  trails,  the  boy  was  unusually  fortu- 
nate in  his  hired  man.  The  latter  was  a  boyish, 
enthusiastic  fellow,  by  the  name  of  Andy,  who  had 


42  Ubc  mtnOreb  of  tbe  Wiifc 

an  interest  in  the  kind  of  things  which  the  boy 
held  important.  One  morning  as  he  was  helping 
Andy  with  the  barn  work,  the  man  said : 

"  It's  about  full  moon  now,  and  right  handy 
weather  for  rabbit-snarin'.  What  say  if  we  git 
off  to  the  woods  this  afternoon,  if  your  father '11 
let  us,  an'  set  some  snares  fer  to-night,  afore  a 
new  snow  comes  and  spiles  the  tracks  ?  " 

The  silent  and  mysterious  winter  woods,  the 
shining  spaces  of  the  snow  marked  here  and  there 
with  strange  footprints  leading  to  unknown  lairs, 
the  clear  glooms,  the  awe  and  the  sense  of  unseen 
presences  —  these  were  what  came  thronging  into 
the  boy's  mind  at  Andy's  suggestion.  All  the  won- 
derful possibilities  of  it !  The  wild  spirit  of  adven- 
ture, the  hunting  zest  of  elemental  man,  stirred  in 
his  veins  at  the 'idea.  Had  he  seen  a  rabbit  being 
hurt  he  would  have  rushed  with  indignant  pity 
to  the  rescue.  But  the  idea  of  rabbit-snaring,  as 
presented  by  Andy's  exciting  words,  fired  a  side 
of  his  imagination  so  remote  from  pity  as  to  have 
no  communication  with  it  whatever  along  the  nerves 
of  sympathy  or  association.  He  was  a  vigorous  and 
normal  boy,  and  the  jewel  of  consistency  (which  is 
usually  paste)  was  therefore  of  as  little  consequence 
to  him  as  to  the  most  enlightened  of  his  elders.  He 


Ube  dDoonligbt  trails  43 

threw  himself  with  fervour  into  Andy's  scheme, 
plied  him  with  exhaustive  questions  as  to  the 
methods  of  making  and  setting  snares,  and  spent 
the  rest  of  the  morning,  under  direction,  in  whit- 
tling with  his  pocket-knife  the  required  uprights 
and  cross-pieces,  and  twisting  the  deadly  nooses 
of  fine  copper  wire.  In  the  prime  of  the  afternoon 
the  two,  on  their  snowshoes,  set  off  gaily  for  the 
wood  of  the  young  fir-trees. 

Up  the  long  slope  of  the  snowy  pasture  lots, 
where  the  drifted  hillocks  sparkled  crisply,  and  the 
black  stumps  here  and  there  broke  through  in  sug- 
gestive, fantastic  shapes,  and  the  gray  rampikes 
towered  bleakly  to  the  upper  air,  the  two  climbed 
with  brisk  steps,  the  dry  cold  a  tonic  to  nerve  and 
vein.  As  they  entered  the  fir  woods  a  fine,  bal- 
samy  tang  breathed  up  to  greet  them,  and  the 
boy's  nostrils  took  eager  note  of  it. 

The  first  tracks  to  meet  their  eyes  were  the 
delicate  footprints  of  the  red  squirrel,  ending 
abruptly  at  the  foot  of  a  tree  somewhat  larger  than 
its  fellows.  Then  the  boy's  sharp  eyes  marked  a 
trail  very  slender  and  precise  —  small,  clear  dots 
one  after  the  other;  and  he  had  a  feeling  of  pro- 
tective tenderness  to  the  maker  of  that  innocent 
little  trail,  till  Andy  told  him  that  he  of  the  dainty 


44  Ube  ftfnfcrefc  of  tbe 

footprints  was  the  bloodthirsty  and  indomitable 
weasel,  the  scourge  of  all  the  lesser  forest  kin. 

The  weasel's  trail  led  them  presently  to  another 
track,  consisting  of  those  triplicate  clusters  of  prints, 
dropped  lightly  and  far  apart;  and  Andy  said, 
"  Rabbits !  and  the  weasel's  after  them !  "  The 
words  made  a  swift  picture  in  the  boy's  imagina- 
tion; and  he  never  forgot  the  trail  of  the  wild 
rabbit  or  the  trail  of  the  weasel. 

Crossing  these  tracks,  they  soon  came  to  one 
more  beaten,  along  which  it  was  plain  that  many 
rabbits  had  fared.  This  they  followed,  one  going 
on  either  side  of  it  that  it  might  not  be  obliterated 
by  the  broad  trail  of  their  snowshoes;  and  in  a 
little  time  it  led  them  out  upon  the  sheltered  glade 
whereon  the  merrymakers  of  the  night  before  had 
held  their  revels. 

In  the  unclouded  downpour  of  the  sunlight  the 
tracks  stood  forth  with  emphasised  distinctness, 
a  melting,  vapourous  violet  against  the  gold-white  of 
the  snowy  surface;  and  to  the  boy's  eyes,  though 
not  to  the  man's,  was  revealed  a  formal  and  intricate 
pattern  in  the  tangled  markings.  To  Andy  it  was 
incomprehensible;  but  he  saw  at  once  that  in  the 
ways  leading  to  the  open  it  would  be  well  to  plant 
the  snares.  The  boy,  on  the  other  hand,  had  a 


tTbe  /Ifcoonlfgbt  trails  45 

keener  insight,  and  exclaimed  at  once,  "  What  fun 
they  must  have  been  having !  "  But  his  sympathy 
was  asleep.  Nothing,  at  that  moment,  could  wake 
it  up  so  far  as  to  make  him  realise  the  part  he  was 
about  to  play  toward  those  childlike  revellers  of 
the  moonlight  trails. 

Skirting  the  glade,  and  stepping  carefully  over 
the  trails,  they  proceeded  to  set  their  snares  at 
the  openings  of  three  of  the  main  alleys;  and  for 
a  little  while  the  strokes  of  their  hatchets  rang  out 
frostily  on  the  still  air  as  they  chopped  down  fra- 
grant armfuls  of  the  young  fir  branches. 

Each  of  the  three  snares  was  set  in  this  fashion: 
First  they  stuck  the  fir  branches  into  the  snow  to 
form  a  thick  green  fence  on  both  sides  of  the  trail, 
with  a  passage  only  wide  enough  for  one  rabbit 
at  a  time  to  pass  through.  On  each  side  of  this 
passageway  they  drove  securely  a  slender  stake, 
notched  on  the  inner  face.  Over  the  opening  they 
bent  down  a  springy  sapling,  securing  its  top,  by 
a  strong  cord,  to  a  small  wooden  cross-piece  which 
was  caught  and  held  in  the  notches  of  the  two  up- 
rights. From  the  under  side  of  this  cross-piece  was 
suspended  the  easy-running  noose  of  copper  wire, 
just  ample  enough  for  a  rabbit's  head,  with  the 
ears  lying  back,  to  enter  readily. 


46  tlbe  -fciufcrefc  of  tbe 

By  the  time  the  snares  were  set  it  was  near  sun- 
down, and  the  young  fir-trees  were  casting  long, 
pointed,  purple  shadows.  With  the  drawing  on 
of  evening  the  boy  felt  stirrings  of  a  wild,  predatory 
instinct.  His  skin  tingled  with  a  still  excitement 
which  he  did  not  understand,  and  he  went  with  a 
fierce  yet  furtive  wariness,  peering  into  the  shadows 
as  if  for  prey.  As  he  and  Andy  emerged  from  the 
woods,  and  strode  silently  down  the  desolate  slopes 
of  the  pasture  lots,  he  could  think  of  nothing  but 
his  return  on  the  morrow  to  see  what  prizes  had 
fallen  to  his  snares.  His  tenderness  of  heart,  his 
enlightened  sympathy  with  the  four-footed  kin- 
dred, much  of  his  civilisation,  in  fact,  had  vanished 
for  the  moment,  burnt  out  in  the  flame  of  an  instinct 
handed  down  to  him  from  his  primeval  ancestors. 

in. 

That  night  the  moon  rose  over  the  young  fir 
woods,  blue-white  and  glittering  as  on  the  night 
before.  The  air  was  of  the  same  biting  stillness 
and  vitreous  transparency.  The  magic  of  it  stirred 
up  the  same  merry  madness  in  the  veins  of  the 
wild  rabbits,  and  set  them  to  aimless  gambolling 
instead  of  their  usual  cautious  browsing  in  the 
thickets  of  yellow  birch.  One  by  one  and  two  by 


ttbe  d&oonlfsbt  {Trails  47 

two  the  white  shapes  came  drifting  down  the 
shadowed  alleys  and  moonlight  trails  of  the  fir 
wood  toward  the  bright  glade  which  they  seemed 
to  have  adopted,  for  the  time,  as  their  playground. 
The  lanes  and  ways  were  many  that  gave  entrance 
to  the  glade ;  and  presently  some  half  dozen  rabbits 
came  bounding,  from  different  directions,  across 
the  radiant  open.  But  on  the  instant  they  stopped 
and  sat  straight  up  on  their  haunches,  ears  erect, 
struck  with  consternation. 

There  at  the  mouth  of  one  of  the  alleys  a  white 
form  jerked  high  into  the  air.  It  hung,  silently 
struggling,  whirling  round  and  round,  and  at  the 
same  time  swaying  up  and  down  with  the  bending  of 
the  sapling-top  from  which  it  swung.  The  startled 
spectators  had  no  comprehension  of  the  sight,  no 
signal-code  to  express  the  kind  of  peril  it  portended, 
and  how  to  flee  from  it.  They  sat  gazing  in  terror. 
Then,  at  the  next  entrance,  there  shot  up  into  the 
brilliant  air  another  like  horror;  and  at  the  next, 
in  the  same  breath,  another.  The  three  hung  kicking 
in  a  hideous  silence. 

The  spell  was  broken.  The  spectators,  trembling 
under  the  imminence  of  a  doom  which  they  could 
not  understand,  vanished  with  long  bounds  by  the 
opposite  side  of  the  glade.  All  was  still  again 


48  Ttbe  ftfnfcreb  of  tbe 

under  the  blue-white,  wizard  scrutiny  of  the  moon 
but  those  three  kicking  shapes.  And  these,  too,  in 
a  few  minutes  hung  motionless  as  the  fir-trees  and 
the  snow.  As  the  glassy  cold  took  hold  upon  them 
they  slowly  stiffened. 

About  an  hour  later  a  big  red  fox  came  trotting 
into  the  glade.  The  hanging  shapes  caught  his 
eye  at  once.  He  knew  all  about  snares,  being  an 
old  fox,  for  years  at  odds  with  the  settlement  of 
Far  Bazziley.  Casting  a  sharp  glance  about,  he 
trotted  over  to  the  nearest  snare  and  sniffed  up 
desirously  toward  the  white  rabbit  dangling  above 
him.  It  was  beyond  his  reach,  and  one  unavailing 
spring  convinced  him  of  the  fact.  The  second 
hung  equally  remote.  But  with  the  third  he  was 
more  fortunate.  The  sapling  was  slender,  and 
drooped  its  burden  closer  to  the  snow.  With  an 
easy  leap  the  fox  seized  the  dangling  body,  dragged 
it  down,  gnawed  off  its  head  to  release  the  noose, 
and  bore  away  the  spoils  in  triumph,  conscious  of 
having  scored  against  his  human  rivals  in  the 
hunt. 

Late  in  the  morning,  when  the  sun  was  pale  in 
a  sky  that  threatened  snowfall,  the  boy  and  Andy 
came,  thrilling  with  anticipation,  to  see  what  the 
snares  had  captured.  At  the  sight  of  the  first 


IT    WAS    BEYOND    HIS    REACH.' 


/iDoonliabt  Urafls  5* 

victim,  the  stiff,  furry  body  hanging  in  the  air 
from  the  bowed  top  of  the  sapling,  the  boy's  nerves 
tingled  with  a  novel  and  fierce  sense  of  triumph. 
His  heart  leapt,  his  eyes  flamed,  and  he  sprang 
forward,  with  a  little  cry,  as  a  young  beast  might 
in  sighting  its  first  quarry.  His  companion,  long 
used  to  the  hunter's  enthusiasm,  was  less  excited. 
He  went  to  the  next  snare,  removed  the  victim, 
reset  the  catch  and  noose;  while  the  boy,  slinging 
his  trophy  over  his  shoulder  with  the  air  of  a  vet- 
eran (as  he  had  seen  it  done  in  pictures),  hastened 
on  to  the  third  to  see  why  it  had  failed  him.  To 
his  untrained  eye  the  trampled  snow,  the  torn  head, 
and  the  blood  spots  told  the  story  in  part;  and  as 
he  looked  a  sense  of  the  tragedy  of  it  began  to  stir 
achingly  at  the  roots  of  his  heart.  "  A  fox,"  re- 
marked Andy,  in  a  matter-of-fact  voice,  coming  up 
at  the  moment,  with  his  prize  hanging  rigidly,  by 
the  pathetically  babyish  hind  legs,  from  the  grasp 
of  his  mittened  fist. 

The  boy  felt  a  spasm  of  indignation  against  the 
fox.  Then,  turning  his  gaze  upon  Andy's  capture, 
he  was  struck  by  the  cruel  marks  of  the  noose  under 
its  jaws  and  behind  its  ears.  He  saw,  for  the 
first  time,  the  half-open  mouth,  the  small,  jutting 
tongue,  the  expression  of  the  dead  eyes;  and  his 


52  ttbe  •Rfnbreb  of  tbe 

face  changed.  He  removed  his  own  trophy  from 
his  shoulder  and  stared  at  it  for  some  moments. 
Then  two  big  tears  rolled  over  his  ruddy  cheeks. 
With  an  angry  exclamation  he  flung  the  dead  rabbit 
down  on  the  snow  and  ran  to  break  up  the  snares. 
"  We  won't  snare  any  more  rabbits,  Andy,"  he 
cried,  averting  his  face,  and  starting  homeward  with 
a  dogged  set  to  his  shoulders.  Andy,  picking  up 
the  rejected  spoils  with  a  grin  that  was  half  be- 
wilderment, half  indulgent  comprehension,  philo- 
sophically followed  the  penitent. 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Gbe  Xorb  of  tbe  air 

HE  chill  glitter  of  the  northern  summer 
sunrise  was  washing  down  over  the 
rounded  top  of  old  Sugar  Loaf.  The 
sombre  and  solitary  peak,  bald  save  for  a  ragged 
veil  of  blueberry  and  juniper  scrub,  seemed  to 
topple  over  the  deep  enshadowed  valley  at  its 
foot.  The  valley  was  brimmed  with  crawling 
vapours,  and  around  its  rim  emerged  spectrally 
the  jagged  crests  of  the  fir  wood.  On  either  side 
of  the  shrouded  valley,  to  east  and  west,  stretched 
a  chain  of  similar  basins,  but  more  ample,  and  less 
deeply  wrapped  in  mist.  From  these,  where  the 
vapours  had  begun  to  lift,  came  radiances  of  unruf- 
fled water. 

Where  the  peak  leaned  to  the  valley,  the  trunk 
of  a  giant  pine  jutted  forth  slantingly  from  a 
roothold  a  little  below  the  summit.  Its  top  had 
long  ago  been  shattered  by  lightning  and  hurled 
away  into  the  depths;  but  from  a  point  some  ten 
or  twelve  feet  below  the  fracture,  one  gaunt  limb 

55 


56  Ube  ikfnbrefc  of  tbe 

still  waved  green  with  persistent,  indomitable  life. 
This  bleached  stub,  thrust  out  over  the  vast  basin, 
hummed  about  by  the  untrammelled  winds,  was  the 
watch-tower  of  the  great  bald  eagle  who  ruled 
supreme  over  all  the  aerial  vicinage  of  the  Squatooks. 

When  the  earliest  of  the  morning  light  fell  palely 
on  the  crest  of  Sugar  Loaf,  the  great  eagle  came 
to  his  watch-tower,  leaving  the  nest  on  the  other 
side  of  the  peak,  where  the  two  nestlings  had  begun 
to  stir  hungrily  at  the  first  premonition  of  dawn, 
Launching  majestically  from  the  edge  of  the  nest, 
he  had  swooped  down  into  the  cold  shadow,  then, 
rising  into  the  light  by  a  splendid  spiral,  with  muf- 
fled resonance  of  wing-stroke,  he  had  taken  a  survey 
of  the  empty,  glimmering  world.  It  was  still  quite 
too  dark  for  hunting,  down  there  on  earth,  hungry 
though  the  nestlings  were.  He  soared,  and  soared, 
till  presently  he  saw  his  wide-winged  mate,  too, 
leave  the  nest,  and  beat  swiftly  off  toward  the  Tuladi 
Lakes,  her  own  special  hunting-grounds.  Then  he 
dropped  quietly  to  his  blanched  pine-top  on  the 
leaning  side  of  the  summit. 

Erect  and  moveless  he  sat  in  the  growing  light, 
his  snowy,  flat-crowned  head  thrust  a  little  forward, 
consciously  lord  of  the  air.  His  powerful  beak, 
long  and  scythe-edged,  curved  over  sharply  at  the 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


%orfc  of  tbe  Hit  59 

end  in  a  rending  hook.  His  eyes,  clear,  direct, 
unacquainted  with  fear,  had  a  certain  hardness  in 
their  vitreous  brilliancy,  perhaps  by  reason  of  the 
sharp  contrast  between  the  bright  gold  iris  and 
the  unfathomable  pupil,  and  the  straight  line  of 
the  low  overhanging  brow  gave  them  a  savage 
intensity  of  penetration.  His  neck  and  tail  were 
of  the  same  snowy  whiteness  as  his  snake-like  head, 
while  the  rest  of  his  body  was  a  deep,  shadowy 
brown,  close  kin  to  black. 

Suddenly,  far,  far  down,  winging  swiftly  in  a 
straight  line  through  the  topmost  fold  of  the  mist 
drift,  he  saw  a  duck  flying  from  one  lake  to 
another.  The  errand  of  the  duck  was  probably  an 
unwonted  one,  of  some  special  urgency,  or  he 
would  not  have  flown  so  high  and  taken  the  straight 
route  over  the  forest;  for  at  this  season  the  duck 
of  inland  waters  is  apt  to  fly  low  and  follow  the 
watercourse.  However  that  may  be,  he  had  for- 
gotten the  piercing  eyes  that  kept  watch  from  the 
peak  of  old  Sugar  Loaf. 

The  eagle  lifted  and  spread  the  sombre  amplitude 
of  his  wings,  and  glided  from  his  perch  in  a  long 
curve,  till  he  balanced  above  the  unconscious  voy- 
ager. Then  down  went  his  head;  his  wings  shut 
close,  his  feathers  hardened  till  he  was  like  a  wedge 


60  Ube  Iftinfcrefc  of  tbe 

of  steel,  and  down  he  shot  with  breathless,  appalling 
speed.  But  the  duck  was  travelling  fast,  and  the 
great  eagle  saw  that  the  mere  speed  of  dropping 
like  a  thunderbolt  was  insufficient  for  his  purpose. 
Two  or  three  quick,  short,  fierce  thrusts  of  his 
pinions,  and  the  speed  of  his  descent  was  more  than 
doubled.  The  duck  heard  an  awful  hissing  in  the 
air  above  him.  But  before  he  could  swerve  to  look 
up  he  was  struck,  whirled  away,  blotted  out  of  life. 

Carried  downward  with  his  quarry  by  the  rush 
of  his  descent,  the  eagle  spread  his  pinions  and  rose 
sharply  just  before  he  reached  the  nearest  tree-tops. 
High  he  mounted  on  still  wings  with  that  tremen- 
dous impulse.  Then,  as  the  impulse  failed,  his 
wings  began  to  flap  strongly,  and  he  flew  off  with 
business-like  directness  toward  the  eyrie  on  the  other 
slope  of  Sugar  Loaf.  The  head  and  legs  of  the 
duck  hung  limply  from  the  clutch  of  his  talons. 

The  nest  was  a  seemingly  haphazard  collection 
of  sticks,  like  a  hay-cart  load  of  rubbish,  deposited 
on  a  ledge  of  the  mountainside.  In  reality,  every 
stick  in  the  structure  had  been  selected  with  care, 
and  so  adeptly  fitted  that  the  nest  stood  unshaken 
beneath  the  wildest  storms  that  swept  old  Sugar 
Loaf.  The  ground  below  the  ledge  was  strewn 
with  the  faggots  and  branches  which  the  careful 


SLorfc  of  tbe  Hit  61 

builders  had  rejected.  The  nest  had  the  appear- 
ance of  being  merely  laid  upon  the  ledge,  but  in 
reality  its  foundations  were  firmly  locked  into  a 
ragged  crevice  which  cleft  the  ledge  at  that  point. 

As  the  eagle  drew  near  with  his  prey,  he  saw 
his  mate  winging  heavily  from  the  Tuladis,  a  large 
fish  hanging  from  her  talons.  They  met  at  the 
nest's  edge,  and  two  heavy-bodied,  soot-coloured, 
half-fledged  nestlings,  with  wings  half  spread  in 
eagerness,  thrust  up  hungry,  gaping  beaks  to  greet 
them.  The  fish,  as  being  the  choicer  morsel,  was 
first  torn  to  fragments  and  fed  to  these  greedy 
beaks;  and  the  duck  followed  in  a  few  moments, 
the  young  ones  gulping  their  meal  with  grotesque 
contortions  and  ecstatic  liftings  of  their  wings. 
Being  already  much  more  than  half  the  size  of 
their  parents,  and  growing  almost  visibly,  and  ex- 
pending vast  vitality  in  the  production  of  their 
first  feathers,  their  appetites  were  prodigious.  Not 
until  these  appetites  seemed  to  be,  for  the  moment, 
stayed,  and  the  eaglets  sank  back  contentedly  upon 
the  nest,  did  the  old  birds  fly  off  to  forage  for 
themselves,  leaving  a  bloody  garniture  of  bones 
and  feathers  upon  the  threshold  of  their  home. 

The  king  —  who,  though  smaller  than  his  mate, 
was  her  lord  by  virtue  of  superior  initiative  and 


62  ZTfoe  ftfnfcrefc  of  tbe  WfU> 

more  assured,  equable  daring  —  returned  at  once 
to  his  watch-tower  on  the  lake  side  of  the  sum- 
mit. It  had  become  his  habit  to  initiate  every 
enterprise  from  that  starting-point.  Perching  mo- 
tionless for  a  few  minutes,  he  surveyed  the  whole 
wide  landscape  of  the  Squatook  Lakes,  with  the 
great  waters  of  Lake  Temiscouata  gleaming  to  the 
northwest,  and  the  peak  of  Bald  Mountain,  old 
Sugar  Loaf's  rival,  lifting  a  defiant  front  from  the 
shores  of  Nictau  Lake,  far  to  the  south. 

The  last  wisp  of  vapour  had  vanished,  drunk 
up  by  the  rising  sun,  and  the  eagle's  eye  had  clear 
command  of  every  district  of  his  realm.  It  was 
upon  the  little  lake  far  below  him  that  his  interest 
presently  centred  itself.  There,  at  no  great  height 
above  the  unruffled  waters,  he  saw  a  fish-hawk  sail- 
ing, now  tilted  to  one  side  or  the  other  on  moveless 
wing,  now  flapping  hurriedly  to  another  course,  as 
if  he  were  scrupulously  quartering  the  whole  lake 
surface. 

The  king  recognised  with  satisfaction  the  dili- 
gence of  this,  the  most  serviceable,  though  most 
unwilling,  of  his  subjects.  In  leisurely  fashion 
he  swung  off  from  his  perch,  and  presently  was 
whirling  in  slow  spirals  directly  over  the  centre  of 
the  lake.  Up,  up  he  mounted,  till  he  was  a  mere 


tTbe  %ori>  of  tbe  Sit  «3 

speck  in  the  blue,  and  seemingly  oblivious  of  all 
that  went  on  below;  but,  as  he  wheeled,  there  in 
his  supreme  altitude,  his  grim  white  head  was 
stretched  ever  earthward,  and  his  eyes  lost  no  detail 
of  the  fish-hawk's  diligence. 

All  at  once,  the  fish-hawk  was  seen  to  poise  on 
steady  wing.  Then  his  wings  closed,  and  he  shot 
downward  like  a  javelin.  The  still  waters  of  the 
lake  were  broken  with  a  violent  splash,  and  the 
fish-hawk's  body  for  a  moment  almost  disappeared. 
Then,  with  a  struggle  and  a  heavy  flapping  of 
wings,  the  daring  fisher  arose,  grasping  in  his  vic- 
torious claws  a  large  "  togue  "  or  gray  lake  trout. 
He  rose  till  he  was  well  above  the  tree-tops  of  the 
near-by  shore,  and  then  headed  for  his  nest  in  the 
cedar  swamp. 

This  was  the  moment  for  which  the  eagle  had 
been  waiting,  up  in  the  blue.  Again  his  vast  wings 
folded  themselves.  Again  his  plumage  hardened 
to  a  wedge  of  steel.  Again  he  dropped  like  a 
plummet.  But  this  time  he  had  no  slaughterous 
intent.  He  was  merely  descending  out  of  the 
heavens  to  take  tribute.  Before  he  reached  the 
hurrying  fish-hawk  he  swerved  upward,  steadied 
himself,  and  flapped  a  menacing  wing  in  the  fish- 
hawk's  face,  heading  it  out  again  toward  the  centre 
of  the  lake. 


64  Ube  ffcinbrefc  of  tbe  TOUlb 

Frightened,  angry,  and  obstinate,  the  big  hawk 
clutched  his  prize  the  closer,  and  made  futile  efforts 
to  reach  the  tree-tops.  But,  fleet  though  he  was, 
he  was  no  match  for  the  fleetness  of  his  master. 
The  great  eagle  was  over  him,  under  him,  around 
him,  all  at  once,  yet  never  striking  him.  The  king 
was  simply  indicating,  quite  unmistakably,  his 
pleasure,  which  was  that  the  fish  should  be  delivered 
up. 

Suddenly,  however,  seeing  that  the  fish-hawk 
was  obstinate,  the  eagle  lost  patience.  It  was  time, 
he  concluded,  to  end  the  folly.  He  had  no  wish  to 
harm  the  fish-hawk,  —  a  most  useful  creature,  and 
none  too  abundant  for  his  kingly  needs.  In  fact, 
he  was  always  careful  not  to  exact  too  heavy  a 
tribute  from  the  industrious  fisherman,  lest  the  latter 
should  grow  discouraged  and  remove  to  freer 
waters.  Of  the  spoils  of  his  fishing  the  big  hawk 
was  always  allowed  to  keep  enough  to  satisfy  the 
requirements  of  himself  and  his  nestlings.  But 
it  was  necessary  that  there  should  be  no  foolish 
misunderstanding  on  the  subject. 

The  eagle  swung  away,  wheeled  sharply  with  an 
ominous,  harsh  rustling  of  stiffened  feathers,  and 
then  came  at  the  hawk  with  a  yelp  and  a  sudden 
tremendous  rush.  His  beak  was  half  open.  His 


Ube  Xorfc  of  tbe  Hit  67 

great  talons  were  drawn  forward  and  extended  for 
a  deadly  stroke.  His  wings  darkened  broadly  over 
the  fugitive.  His  sound,  his  shadow,  —  they  were 
doom  itself,  annihilation  to  the  frightened  hawk. 

But  that  deadly  stroke  was  not  delivered.  The 
threat  was  enough.  Shrinking  aside  with  a  scream 
the  fish-hawk  opened  his  claws,  and  the  trout  fell, 
a  gleaming  bar  of  silver  in  the  morning  light.  On 
the  instant  the  eagle  half  closed  his  wings,  tilted 
sideways,  and  swooped.  He  did  not  drop,  as  he 
had  descended  upon  the  voyaging  duck,  but  with 
a  peculiar  shortened  wing-stroke,  he  flew  straight 
downward  for  perhaps  a  hundred  feet.  Then, 
with  this  tremendous  impulse  driving  him,  he  shot 
down  like  lightning,  caught  the  fish  some  twenty 
feet  above  the  water,  turned,  and  rose  in  a  long, 
magnificent  slant,  with  the  tribute  borne  in  his 
talons.  He  sailed  away  majestically  to  his  watch- 
tower  on  old  Sugar  Loaf,  to  make  his  meal  at 
leisure,  while  the  ruffled  hawk  beat  away  rapidly 
down  the  river  to  try  his  luck  in  the  lower  lake. 

Holding  the  fish  firmly  in  the  clutch  of  one  great 
talon,  the  eagle  tore  it  to  pieces  and  swallowed  it 
with  savage  haste.  Then  he  straightened  himself, 
twisted  and  stretched  his  neck  once  or  twice,  set- 
tled back  into  erect  and  tranquil  dignity,  and  swept 


1kinbret>  of  tbe  milt* 

a  kingly  glance  over  all  his  domain,  from  the  far 
head  of  Big  Squatook,  to  the  alder-crowded  outlet 
of  Fourth  Lake.  He  saw  unmoved  the  fish-hawk 
capture  another  prize,  and  fly  off  with  it  in  triumph 
to  his  hidden  nest  in  the  swamp.  He  saw  two 
more  ducks  winging  their  way  from  a  sheltered 
cove  to  a  wide,  green  reed-bed  at  the  head  of  the 
thoroughfare.  Being  a  right  kingly  monarch,  he 
had  no  desire  to  trouble  them.  Untainted  by  the 
lust  of  killing,  he  killed  only  when  the  need  was 
upon  him. 

Having  preened  himself  with  some  care,  polished 
his  great  beak  on  the  dry  wood  of  the  stub,  and 
stretched  each  wing,  deliberately  and  slowly,  the 
one  after  the  other,  with  crisp  rustling  noises,  till 
each  strong-shanked  plume  tingled  pleasantly  in  its 
socket  and  fitted  with  the  utmost  nicety  to  its  over- 
lapping fellows,  he  bethought  him  once  more  of  the 
appetites  of  his  nestlings.  There  were  no  more 
industrious  fish-hawks  in  sight.  Neither  hare  nor 
grouse  was  stirring  in  the  brushy  opens.  No  living 
creatures  were  visible  save  a  pair  of  loons  chasing 
each  other  off  the  point  of  Sugar  Loaf  Island,  and 
an  Indian  in  his  canoe  just  paddling  down  to  the 
outlet  to  spear  suckers. 

The  eagle  knew  that  the  loons  were  no  concern 


Ube  OLorb  of  tbe  Hit  69 

of  his.  They  were  never  to  be  caught  napping. 
They  could  dive  quicker  than  he  could  swoop  and 
strike.  The  Indian  also  he  knew,  and  from  long 
experience  had  learned  to  regard  him  as  inoffensive. 
He  had  often  watched,  with  feelings  as  near  akin 
to  jealousy  as  his  arrogant  heart  could  entertain, 
the  spearing  of  suckers  and  whitefish.  And  now 
the  sight  determined  him  to  go  fishing  on  his  own 
account.  He  remembered  a  point  of  shoals  on 
Big  Squatook  where  large  fish  were  wont  to  lie 
basking  in  the  sun,  and  where  sick  or  disabled  fish 
were  frequently  washed  ashore.  Here  he  might 
gather  some  spoil  of  the  shallows,  pending  the  time 
when  he  could  again  take  tribute  of  the  fish-hawk. 
Once  more  he  launched  himself  from  his  watch- 
tower  under  the  peak  of  Sugar  Loaf,  and  sailed 
away  over  the  serried  green  tops  of  the  forest. 

n. 

Now  it  chanced  that  the  old  Indian,  who  was 
the  most  cunning  trapper  in  all  the  wilderness  of 
Northern  New  Brunswick,  though  he  seemed  so  in- 
tent upon  his  fishing,  was  in  reality  watching  fhe 
great  eagle.  He  had  anticipated,  and  indeed  prepared 
for  the  regal  bird's  expedition  to  those  shoals  of 
the  Big  Squatook ;  and  now,  as  he  marked  the  direc- 


70  Ube  ftfnfcreb  of  tbe 

tion  of  his  flight,  he  clucked  grimly  to  himself 
with  satisfaction,  and  deftly  landed  a  large  sucker 
in  the  canoe. 

That  very  morning,  before  the  first  pallor  of  dawn 
had  spread  over  Squatook,  the  Indian  had  scattered 
some  fish,  trout  and  suckers,  on  the  shore  adjoining 
the  shoal  water.  The  point  he  chose  was  where 
a  dense  growth  of  huckleberry  and  withe-wood  ran 
out  to  within  a  few  feet  of  the  water's  edge,  and 
where  the  sand  of  the  beach  was  dotted  thickly  with 
tufts  of  grass.  The  fish,  partly  hidden  among  these 
tufts  of  grass,  were  all  distributed  over  a  circular 
area  of  a  diameter  not  greater  than  six  or  seven 
feet;  and  just  at  the  centre  of  the  baited  circle  the 
Indian  had  placed  a  stone  about  a  foot  high,  such 
as  any  reasonable  eagle  would  like  to  perch  upon 
when  making  a  hasty  meal.  He  was  crafty  with  all 
the  cunning  of  the  woods,  was  this  old  trapper,  and 
he  knew  that  a  wise  and  experienced  bird  like  the 
king  of  Sugar  Loaf  was  not  to  be  snared  by  any 
ordinary  methods.  But  to  snare  him  he  was  re- 
solved, though  it  should  take  all  the  rest  of  the 
summer  to  accomplish  it;  for  a  rich  American, 
visiting  Edmundston  on  the  Madawaska  in  the 
spring,  had  promised  him  fifty  dollars  for  a  fine 
specimen  of  the  great  white  headed  and  white  tailed 


!Horfc  of  tbe  Hit  7* 

eagle  of  the  New  Brunswick  lakes,  if  delivered  at 
Edmundston  alive  and  unhurt. 

When  the  eagle  came  to  the  point  of  shoals  he 
noticed  a  slight  change.  That  big  stone  was  some- 
thing new,  and  therefore  to  be  suspected.  He  flew 
over  it  without  stopping,  and  alighted  on  the  top 
of  a  dead  birch-tree  near  by.  A  piercing  scrutiny 
convinced  him  that  the  presence  of  the  stone  at  a 
point  where  he  was  accustomed  to  hop  awkwardly 
on  the  level  sand,  was  in  no  way  portentous,  but 
rather  a  provision  of  destiny  for  his  convenience. 
He  sailed  down  and  alighted  upon  the  stone. 

When  he  saw  a  dead  sucker  lying  under  a  grass 
tuft  he  considered  again.  Had  the  fish  lain  at  the 
water's  edge  he  would  have  understood;  but  up 
among  the  grasses,  that  was  a  singular  situation 
for  a  dead  fish  to  get  itself  into.  He  now  peered 
suspiciously  into  the  neighbouring  bushes,  scanned 
every  tuft  of  grass,  and  cast  a  sweeping  survey  up 
and  down  the  shores.  Everything  was  as  it  should 
be.  He  hopped  down,  captured  the  fish,  and  was 
about  to  fly  away  with  it  to  his  nestlings,  when 
he  caught  sight  of  another,  and  yet  another. 
Further  search  revealed  two  more.  Plainly  the 
wilderness,  in  one  of  those  caprices  which  even  his 
old  wisdom  had  not  yet  learned  to  comprehend,  was 


7*  ttbe  fttnbreb  of  tbe 

caring  very  lavishly  for  the  king.  He  hastily  tore 
and  swallowed  two  of  the  fish,  and  then  flew  away 
with  the  biggest  of  the  lot  to  the  nest  behind  the 
top  of  old  Sugar  Loaf.  That  same  day  he  came 
twice  again  to  the  point  of  shoals,  till  there  was 
not  another  fish  left  among  the  grass  tufts.  But 
on  the  following  day,  when  he  came  again,  with 
hope  rather  than  expectation  in  his  heart,  he  found 
that  the  supply  had  been  miraculously  renewed. 
His  labours  thus  were  greatly  lightened.  He  had 
more  time  to  sit  upon  his  wind-swept  watch-tower 
under  the  peak,  viewing  widely  his  domain,  and 
leaving  the  diligent  fish-hawks  to  toil  in  peace. 
He  fell  at  once  into  the  custom  of  perching  on  the 
stone  at  every  visit,  and  then  devouring  at  least 
one  fish  before  carrying  a  meal  to  the  nest.  His 
surprise  and  curiosity  as  to  the  source  of  the  supply 
had  died  out  on  the  second  day.  The  wild  creatures 
quickly  learn  to  accept  a  simple  obvious  good, 
however  extraordinary,  as  one  of  those  benefi- 
cences which  the  unseen  powers  bestow  without 
explanation. 

By  the  time  the  eagle  had  come  to  this  frame  of 
mind,  the  old  Indian  was  ready  for  the  next  move 
in  his  crafty  game.  He  made  a  strong  hoop  of 
plaited  withe-wood,  about  seven  feet  in  diameter. 


ttbe  OLort)  ot  tbe  Hit  73 

To  this  he  fastened  an  ample  bag  of  strong  salmon- 
netting,  which  he  had  brought  with  him  from  Ed- 
mundston  for  this  purpose.  To  the  hoop  he  fixed 
securely  a  stiff  birch  sapling  for  a  handle,  so  that  the 
affair  when  completed  was  a  monster  scoop-net, 
stout  and  durable  in  every  part.  On  a  moonlight 
night  when  he  knew  that  the  eagle  was  safely  out 
of  sight,  on  his  eyrie  around  at  the  back  of  Sugar 
Loaf,  the  Indian  stuck  this  gigantic  scoop  into  the 
bow  of  his  canoe,  and  paddled  over  to  the  point  of 
shoals.  He  had  never  heard  of  any  one  trying  to 
catch  an  eagle  in  a  net;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  he 
had  never  heard  of  any  one  wanting  an  eagle  alive, 
and  being  willing  to  emphasise  his  wants  with  fifty 
dollars.  The  case  was  plainly  one  that  called  for 
new  ideas,  and  the  Indian,  who  had  freed  himself 
from  the  conservatism  of  his  race,  was  keenly  in- 
terested in  the  plan  which  he  had  devised. 

The  handle  of  the  great  scoop-net  was  about  eight 
feet  in  length.  Its  butt  the  trapper  drove  slantingly 
into  the  sand  where  the  water  was  an  inch  or  two 
deep,  bracing  it  securely  with  stones.  He  fixed  it 
at  an  angle  so  acute  that  the  rim  of  the  net  lay 
almost  flat  at  a  height  of  about  four  feet  above  the 
stone  whereon  the  eagle  was  wont  to  perch.  Under 
the  uppermost  edge  of  the  hoop  the  trapper  fixed 


74  Ube  Ikiufcrefc  of  tbe  TKHiifc 

a  firm  prop,  making  the  structure  steady  and  secure. 
The  drooping  slack  of  the  net  he  then  caught  up 
and  held  lightly  in  place  on  three  or  four  willow 
twigs,  so  that  it  all  lay  flat  within  the  rim.  This 
accomplished  to  his  satisfaction,  he  scattered  fish 
upon  the  ground  as  usual,  most  of  them  close  about 
the  stone  and  within  the  area  overshadowed  by 
the  net,  but  two  or  three  well  outside.  Then  he 
paddled  noiselessly  away  across  the  moon-silvered 
mirror  of  the  lake,  and  disappeared  into  the  black- 
ness about  the  outlet. 

On  the  following  morning,  the  king  sat  upon  his 
watch-tower  while  the  first  light  gilded  the  leaning 
summit  of  Sugar  Loaf.  His  gaze  swept  the  vast 
and  shadowy  basin  of  the  landscape  with  its 
pointed  tree-tops  dimly  emerging  above  the  vapour- 
drift,  and  its  blank,  pallid  spaces  whereunder 
the  lakes  lay  veiled  in  dream.  His  golden  eye 
flamed  fiercely  under  the  straight  and  fierce  white 
brow;  nevertheless,  when  he  saw,  far  down,  two 
ducks  winging  their  way  across  the  lake,  now  for 
a  second  visible,  now  vanishing  in  the  mist,  he 
suffered  them  to  go  unstricken.  The  clear  light 
gilded  the  white  feathers  of  his  head  and  tail,  but 
sank  and  was  absorbed  in  the  cloudy  gloom  of  his 
wings.  For  fully  half  an  hour  he  sat  in  regal 


Ube  %ort>  of  tbe  Hit  75 

immobility.  But  when  at  last  the  waters  of  Big 
Squatook  were  revealed,  stripped  and  gleaming,  he 
dropped  from  his  perch  in  a  tremendous,  leisurely 
curve,  and  flew  over  to  the  point  of  shoals. 

As  he  drew  near,  he  was  puzzled  and  annoyed  to 
see  the  queer  structure  that  had  been  erected  during 
the  night  above  his  rock.  It  was  inexplicable.  He 
at  once  checked  his  flight  and  began  whirling  in 
great  circles,  higher  and  higher,  over  the  spot,  try- 
ing in  vain  to  make  out  what  it  was.  He  could  see 
that  the  dead  fish  were  there  as  usual.  And  at 
length  he  satisfied  himself  that  no  hidden  peril 
lurked  in  the  near-by  huckleberry  thicket.  Then  he 
descended  to  the  nearest  tree-top  and  spent  a  good 
half-hour  in  moveless  watching  of  the  net.  He 
little  guessed  that  a  dusky  figure,  equally  moveless 
and  far  more  patient,  was  watching  him  in  turn 
from  a  thicket  across  the  lake. 

At  the  end  of  this  long  scrutiny,  the  eagle  decided 
that  a  closer  investigation  was  desirable.  He  flew 
down  and  alighted  on  the  level  sand  well  away  from 
the  net.  There  he  found  a  fish  which  he  devoured. 
Then  he  found  another;  and  this  he  carried  away 
to  the  eyrie.  He  had  not  solved  the  mystery  of  the 
strange  structure  overhanging  the  rock,  but  he  had 
proved  that  it  was  not  actively  inimical.  It  had 


76  Ube  Ikfufcrefc  of  tbe 

not  interfered  with  his  morning  meal,  or  attempted 
to  hinder  him  from  carrying  off  his  customary 
spoils.  When  he  returned  an  hour  later  to  the  point 
of  shoals  the  net  looked  less  strange  to  him.  He 
even  perched  on  the  sloping  handle,  balancing  him- 
self with  outspread  wings  till  the  swaying  ceased. 
The  thing  was  manifestly  harmless.  He  hopped 
down,  looked  with  keen  interested  eyes  at  the  fish 
beside  the  rock,  hopped  in  and  clutched  one  out 
with  beak  and  claw,  hopped  back  again  in  a  great 
hurry,  and  flew  away  with  the  prize  to  his  watch- 
tower  on  Sugar  Loaf.  This  caution  he  repeated  at 
every  visit  throughout  that  day.  But  when  he  came 
again  on  the  morrow,  he  had  grown  once  more 
utterly  confident.  He  went  under  the  net  without 
haste  or  apprehension,  and  perched  unconcernedly 
on  the  stone  in  the  midst  of  his  banquet.  And  the 
stony  face  of  the  old  Indian,  in  his  thicket  across 
the  lake,  flashed  for  one  instant  with  a  furtive  grin. 
He  grunted,  melted  back  into  the  woods,  and  slipped 
away  to  resume  his  fishing  at  the  outlet. 

The  next  morning,  about  an  hour  before  dawn, 
a  ghostly  birch  canoe  slipped  up  to  the  point  of 
shoals,  and  came  to  land  about  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  net.  The  Indian  stepped  out,  lifted  it 
from  the  water,  and  hid  it  in  the  bushes.  Then  he 


ZTbe  OLorfc  ot  tbe  Htr  77 

proceeded  to  make  some  important  changes  in  the 
arrangement  of  the  net. 

To  the  topmost  rim  of  the  hoop  he  tied  a  strong 
cord,  brought  the  free  end  to  the  ground,  led  it 
under  a  willow  root,  and  carried  it  some  ten  paces 
back  into  the  thicket.  Next  he  removed  the  sup- 
porting prop.  Going  back  into  the  thicket,  he 
pulled  the  cord.  It  ran  freely  under  the  willow  root, 
and  the  net  swayed  down  till  it  covered  the  rock,  to 
rebound  to  its  former  position  the  moment  he  re- 
leased the  cord.  Then  he  restored  the  prop  to  its 
place;  but  this  time,  instead  of  planting  its  butt 
firmly  in  the  sand,  he  balanced  it  on  a  small  flat 
stone,  so  that  the  least  pull  would  instantaneously 
dislodge  it.  To  the  base  of  the  prop  he  fixed  another 
cord;  and  this  also  he  ran  under  the  willow  root 
and  carried  back  into  the  thicket.  To  the  free  end 
of  this  second  cord  he  tied  a  scrap  of  red  flannel, 
that  there  might  be  no  mistake  at  a  critical  moment. 
The  butt  of  the  handle  he  loosened,  so  that  if  the 
prop  were  removed  the  net  would  almost  fall  of  its 
own  weight;  and  on  the  upper  side  of  the  butt, 
to  give  steadiness  and  speed  of  action,  he  leaned  two 
heavy  stones.  Finally,  he  baited  his  trap  with  the 
usual  dead  fish,  bunching  them  now  under  the  centre 
of  the  net.  Then,  satisfying  himself  that  all  was  in 


78  Ube  fUufcrefc  of  tbe 

working  order,  he  wormed  his  way  into  the  heart 
of  the  thicket.  A  few  leafy  branches,  cunningly  dis- 
posed around  and  above  his  hiding-place,  made  his 
concealment  perfect,  while  his  keen  black  beads  of 
eyes  commanded  a  clear  view  of  the  stone  beneath 
the  net.  The  ends  of  the  two  cords  were  between 
his  lean  fingers.  No  waiting  fox  or  hiding  grouse 
could  have  lain  more  immovable,  could  have  held 
his  muscles  in  more  patient  perfect  stillness,  than 
did  the  wary  old  trapper  through  the  chill  hour  of 
growing  dawn. 

At  last  there  came  a  sound  that  thrilled  even 
such  stoic  nerves  as  his.  Mighty  wings  hissed  in 
the  air  above  his  head.  The  next  moment  he  saw 
the  eagle  alight  upon  the  level  sand  beside  the  net. 
This  time  there  was  no  hesitation.  The  great  bird, 
for  all  his  wisdom,  had  been  lured  into  accepting 
the  structure  as  a  part  of  the  established  order  of 
things.  He  hopped  with  undignified  alacrity  right 
under  the  net,  clutched  a  large  whitefish,  and 
perched  himself  on  the  stone  to  enjoy  his  meal. 

At  that  instant  he  felt,  rather  than  saw,  the 
shadow  of  a  movement  in  the  thicket.  Or  rather, 
perhaps,  some  inward,  unaccredited  guardian  sig- 
nalled to  him  of  danger.  His  muscles  gathered 
themselves  for  that  instantaneous  spring  wherewith 


"  HELPLESSLY   INTERTANGLED   IN   THE   MESHES." 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Ube  3lor&  of  tbe  Hit  81 

he  was  wont  to  hurl  himself  into  the  air.  But  even 
that  electric  speed  of  his  was  too  slow  for  this 
demand.  Ere  he  could  spring,  the  great  net  came 
down  about  him  with  a  vicious  swish;  and  in  a 
moment  beating  wings,  tearing  beak,  and  clutching 
talons  were  helplessly  intertangled  in  the  meshes. 
Before  he  could  rip  himself  free,  a  blanket  was 
thrown  over  him.  He  was  ignominiously  rolled 
into  a  bundle,  picked  up,  and  carried  off  under  the 
old  Indian's  arm. 

in. 

When  the  kin^  was  gone,  it  seemed  as  if  a  hush 
had  fallen  over  the  country  of  the  Squatooks.  When 
the  old  pine  beneath  the  toppling  peak  of  Sugar  Loaf 
had  stood  vacant  all  the  long  golden  hours  of  the 
morning,  two  crows  flew  up  from  the  fir-woods  to 
investigate.  They  hopped  up  and  down  on  the 
sacred  seat,  cawing  impertinently  and  excitedly. 
Then  in  a  sudden  flurry  of  apprehension  they  darted 
away.  News  of  the  great  eagle's  mysterious  ab- 
sence spread  quickly  among  the  wood  folk,  —  not 
by  direct  communication,  indeed,  except  in  the  case 
of  the  crows,  but  subtly  and  silently,  as  if  by  some 
telepathic  code  intelligible  alike  to  mink  and  wood- 
mouse,  kingfisher  and  lucifee. 


82  ubc  TRfnfcrefc  ot  tbe 

When  the  noon  had  gone  by,  and  the  shadow  of 
Sugar  Loaf  began  to  creep  over  the  edge  of  the 
nest,  the  old  mother  eagle  grew  uneasy  at  the  pro- 
longed absence  of  her  mate.  Never  before  since 
the  nestlings  broke  the  shell  had  he  been  so  long 
away.  Never  before  had  she  been  compelled  to  real- 
ise how  insatiable  were  the  appetites  of  her  young. 
She  flew  around  to  the  pine-tree  on  the  other  side 
of  the  peak,  —  and  finding  it  vacant,  something  told 
her  it  had  been  long  unoccupied.  Then  she  flew 
hither  and  thither  over  all  the  lakes,  a  fierce  loneli- 
ness growing  in  her  heart.  From  the  long  grasses 
around  the  mouth  of  the  thoroughfare  between  third 
and  fourth  lakes  a  heron  arose,  flapping  wide  bluish 
wings,  and  she  dropped  upon  it  savagely.  However 
her  wild  heart  ached,  the  nestlings  must  be  fed. 
With  the  long  limp  neck  and  slender  legs  of  the 
heron  trailing  from  her  talons,  she  flew  away  to  the 
eyrie;  and  she  came  no  more  to  the  Squatooks. 

The  knowledge  of  all  the  woodfolk  around  the 
lakes  had  been  flashed  in  upon  her,  and  she  knew 
some  mysterious  doom  had  fallen  upon  her  mate. 
Thereafter,  though  the  country  of  the  Squatooks 
was  closer  at  hand  and  equally  well  stocked  with 
game,  and  though  the  responsibilities  of  her  hunting 
had  been  doubled,  she  kept  strictly  to  her  old 


Ube  ftorfc  of  tbe  Hit  85 

hunting-ground  of  the  Tuladis.  Everything  on  the 
north  side  of  old  Sugar  Loaf  had  grown  hateful  to 
her ;  and  unmolested  within  half  a  mile  of  the  eyrie, 
the  diligent  fish-hawks  plied  their  craft,  screaming 
triumphantly  over  every  capture.  The  male,  indeed, 
growing  audacious  after  the  king  had  been  a  whole 
week  absent,  presumed  so  far  as  to  adopt  the  old 
pine-tree  under  the  peak  for  his  perch,  to  the  loud 
and  disconcerting  derision  of  the  crows.  They 
flocked  blackly  about  with  vituperative  malice,  driv- 
ing him  to  forsake  his  seat  of  usurpation  and  soar 
indignantly  to  heights  where  they  could  not  follow. 
But  at  last  the  game  palled  upon  their  whimsical 
fancies,  and  they  left  him  in  peace  to  his  aping  of 
the  king. 

Meanwhile,  in  the  village  of  Edmundston,  in  the 
yard  of  a  house  that  stood  ever  enfolded  in  the 
sleepless  roar  of  the  Falls  of  Madawaska,  the  king 
was  eating  out  his  sorrowful  and  tameless  heart. 
Around  one  steely-scaled  leg,  just  above  the  spread 
of  the  mighty  claws,  he  wore  the  ragged  ignominy 
of  a  bandage  of  soiled  red  flannel.  This  was  to  pre- 
vent the  chafing  of  the  clumsy  and  rusty  dog-chain 
which  secured  him  to  his  perch  in  an  open  shed  that 
looked  out  upon  the  river.  Across  the  river,  across 
the  cultivated  valley  with  its  roofs,  and  farther 


86  fcbe  1fcfn&re&  of  tbe  Wil* 

across  the  forest  hills  than  any  human  eye  could  see, 
his  eye  could  see  a  dim  summit,  as  it  were  a  faint 
blue  cloud  on  the  horizon,  his  own  lost  realm  of 
Sugar  Loaf.  Hour  after  hour  he  would  sit  upon  his 
rude  perch,  unstirring,  unwinking,  and  gaze  upon 
this  faint  blue  cloud  of  his  desire. 

From  his  jailers  he  accepted  scornfully  his  daily 
rations  of  fish,  ignoring  the  food  while  any  one 
was  by,  but  tearing  it  and  gorging  it  savagely  when 
left  alone.  As  week  after  week  dragged  on,  his 
hatred  of  his  captors  gathered  force,  but  he  showed 
no  sign.  Fear  he  was  hardly  conscious  of;  or, 
at  least,  he  had  never  felt  that  panic  fear  which 
unnerves  even  kings,  except  during  the  one  appal- 
ling moment  when  he  felt  the  falling  net  encumber 
his  wings,  and  the  trapper's  smothering  blanket  shut 
out  the  sun  from  his  eyes.  Now,  when  any  one  of 
his  jailers  approached  and  sought  to  win  his  con- 
fidence,  he  would  shrink  within  himself  and  harden 
his  feathers  with  wild  inward  aversion,  but  his 
eye  of  piercing  gold  would  neither  dim  nor  waver, 
and  a  clear  perception  of  the  limits  of  his  chain 
would  prevent  any  futile  and  ignoble  struggle  to 
escape.  Had  he  shown  more  fear,  more  wildness, 
his  jailers  would  have  more  hope  of  subduing  him 
in  some  measure ;  but  as  it  was,  being  back  country 


Ube  Xor&  of  tbe  Hit  87 

men  with  some  knowledge  of  the  wilderness  folk, 
they  presently  gave  him  up  as  tameless  and  left  off 
troubling  him  with  their  attentions.  They  took 
good  care  of  him,  however,  for  they  were  to  be 
well  paid  for  their  trouble  when  the  rich  American 
came  for  his  prize. 

At  last  he  came;  and  when  he  saw  the  king  he 
was  glad.  Trophies  he  had  at  home  in  abundance, 
—  the  skins  of  lions  which  he  had  shot  on  the 
Zambesi,  of  tigers  from  Himalayan  foot-hills,  of 
grizzlies  from  Alaskan  canons,  and  noble  heads 
of  moose  and  caribou  from  these  very  highlands  of 
Squatook,  whereon  the  king  had  been  wont  to  look 
from  his  dizzy  gyres  of  flight  above  old  Sugar  Loaf. 
But  the  great  white-headed  eagle,  who  year  after 
year  had  baffled  his  woodcraft  and  eluded  his  rifle, 
he  had  come  to  love  so  that  he  coveted  him  alive. 
Now,  having  been  apprised  of  the  capture  of  so 
fine  and  well-known  a  bird  as  the  king  of  old 
Sugar  Loaf,  he  had  brought  with  him  an  anklet 
of  thick,  soft  leather  for  the  illustrious  captive's 
leg,  and  a  chain  of  wrought  steel  links,  slender, 
delicate,  and  strong.  On  the  morning  after  his 
arrival  the  new  chain  was  to  be  fitted. 

The  great  eagle  was  sitting  erect  upon  his  perch, 
gazing  at  the  faint  blue  cloud  which  he  alone  could 


88  abe  ftfufcrefc  ot  tbe  TimtU> 

see,  when  two  men  came  to  the  shed  beside  the 
river.  One  he  knew.  It  was  his  chief  jailer,  the 
man  who  usually  brought  fish.  The  other  was  a 
stranger,  who  carried  in  his  hand  a  long,  glittering 
thing  that  jangled  and  stirred  a  vague  apprehension 
in  his  heart.  The  jailer  approached,  and  with  a 
quick  movement  wrapped  him  in  a  coat,  till  beak 
and  wings  and  talons  alike  were  helpless.  There 
was  one  instinctive,  convulsive  spasm  within  the 
wrapping,  and  the  bundle  was  still,  the  great  bird 
being  too  proud  as  well  as  too  wise  to  waste  force 
in  a  vain  struggle. 

"  Seems  pretty  tame  already,"  remarked  the 
stranger,  in  a  tone  of  satisfaction. 

"  Tame !  "  exclaimed  the  countryman.  "  Them's 
the  kind  as  don't  tame.  I've  give  up  trying  to  tame 
him.  Ef  you  keep  him,  an'  feed  him,  an'  coax  him 
for  ten  year,  he'll  be  as  wild  as  the  day  Gabe  snared 
him  up  on  Big  Squatook." 

"  We'll  see,"  said  the  stranger,  who  had  confi- 
dence in  his  knowledge  of  the  wild  folk. 

Seating  himself  on  a  broken-backed  chair  just 
outside  the  shadow  of  the  shed,  where  the  light 
was  good,  the  countryman  held  the  motionless 
bundle  firmly  across  his  knees,  and  proceeded  cau- 
tiously to  free  the  fettered  leg.  He  held  it  in  an 


Ube  %or&  of  tbe  Hit  89 

inflexible  grip,  respecting  those  knife-edged  claws. 
Having  removed  the  rusty  dog-chain  and  the  igno- 
minious red  flannel  bandage,  he  fitted  dexterously 
the  soft  leather  anklet,  with  its  three  tiny  silver 
buckles,  and  its  daintily  engraved  plate,  bearing  the 
king's  name  with  the  place  and  date  of  his  capture. 
Then  he  reached  out  his  hand  for  the  new  steel 
chain. 

The  eagle,  meanwhile,  had  been  slowly  and  im- 
perceptibly working  his  head  free ;  and  now,  behind 
the  countryman's  arm,  he  looked  out  from  the  im- 
prisoning folds  of  the  coat.  Fierce,  wild,  but  unaf- 
frighted,  his  eye  caught  the  glitter  of  the  chain  as 
the  stranger  held  it  out.  That  glitter  moved  him 
strangely.  On  a  sudden  impulse  he  opened  his 
mighty  beak,  and  tore  savagely  at  the  countryman's 
leg. 

With  a  yell  of  pain  and  surprise  the  man  at- 
tempted to  jump  away  from  this  assault.  But  as  the 
assailant  was  on  his  lap  this  was  obviously  impos- 
sible. The  muscles  of  his  leg  stiffened  out  instinc- 
tively, —  and  the  broken-backed  chair  gave  way 
under  the  strain.  Arms  and  legs  flew  wildly  in 
the  air  as  he  sprawled  backward,  —  and  the  coat  fell 
apart,  —  and  the  eagle  found  himself  free.  The 
stranger  sprang  forward  to  clutch  his  treasured 


90  Ube  Ifcfn&reb  of  tbe 

captive,  but  received  a  blinding  buffet  from  the 
great  wings  undestined  to  captivity.  The  next 
moment  the  king  bounded  upward.  The  air  whis- 
tled under  his  tremendous  wing-strokes.  Up,  up 
he  mounted,  leaving  the  men  to  gape  after  him, 
flushed  and  foolish.  Then  he  headed  his  flight  for 
that  faint  blue  cloud  beyond  the  hills. 

That  afternoon  there  was  a  difference  in  the 
country  of  the  Squatooks.  The  nestlings  in  the 
eyrie  —  bigger  and  blacker  and  more  clamorous 
they  were  now  than  when  he  went  away  —  found 
more  abundant  satisfaction  to  their  growing  appe- 
tites. Their  wide-winged  mother,  hunting  away  on 
Tuladi,  hunted  with  more  joyous  heart.  The  fish- 
hawks  on  the  Squatook  waters  came  no  more  near 
the  blasted  pine;  but  they  fished  more  diligently, 
and  their  hearts  were  big  with  indignation  over  the 
spoils  which  they  had  been  forced  to  deliver  up. 

The  crows  far  down  in  the  fir-tops  were  garrulous 
about  the  king's  return,  and  the  news  spread  swiftly 
among  the  mallards,  the  muskrats,  the  hares,  and 
the  careful  beavers.  And  the  solitude  about  the 
toppling  peak  of  old  Sugar  Loaf  seemed  to  resume 
some  lost  sublimity,  as  the  king  resumed  his  throne 
among  the  winds. 


TKflllb  flfcotberbocfo 

HE  deep  snow  in  the  moose-yard  was 
trodden  down  to  the  moss,  and  darkly 
soiled  with  many  days  of  occupancy. 
The  young  spruce  and  birch  trees  which  lined 
the  trodden  paths  were  cropped  of  all  but  their 
toughest  and  coarsest  branches;  and  the  wall 
of  loftier  growth  which  fenced  the  yard  was 
stripped  of  its  tenderer  twigs  to  the  utmost  height 
of  the  tall  bull's  neck.  The  available  provender  was 
all  but  gone,  and  the  herd  was  in  that  restlessness 
which  precedes  a  move  to  new  pastures. 

The  herd  of  moose  was  a  small  one  —  three 
gaunt,  rusty-brown,  slouching  cows,  two  ungainly 
calves  of  a  lighter  hue,  and  one  huge,  high-shoul- 
dered bull,  whose  sweep  of  palmated  antlers  bristled 
like  a  forest.  Compared  with  the  towering  bulk 
of  his  forequarters,  the  massive  depth  of  his  rough- 
maned  neck,  the  weight  of  the  formidable  antlers, 
the  length  and  thickness  of  his  clumsy,  hooked 
muzzle  with  its  prehensile  upper  lip,  his  lean  and 

93 


94  Ube  fkfnbreb  of  tbe 

frayed  hindquarters  looked  grotesquely  diminutive. 
Surprised  by  three  days  of  blinding  snowfall,  the 
great  bull-moose  had  been  forced  to  establish  the 
yard  for  his  herd  in  an  unfavourable  neighbour- 
hood; and  now  he  found  himself  confronted  by 
the  necessity  of  a  long  march  through  snow  of 
such  softness  and  depth  as  would  make  swift  move- 
ment impossible  and  fetter  him  in  the  face  of  his 
enemies.  In  deep  snow  the  moose  can  neither  flee 
nor  fight,  at  both  of  which  he  is  adept  under  fair 
conditions ;  and  deep  snow,  as  he  knew,  is  the  oppor- 
tunity of  the  wolf  and  the  hunter.  But  in  this 
case  the  herd  had  no  choice.  It  was  simply  take 
the  risk  or  starve. 

That  same  night,  when  the  moon  was  rising 
round  and  white  behind  the  fir-tops,  the  tall  bull 
breasted  and  trod  down  the  snowy  barriers,  and 
led  his  herd  off  northward  between  the  hemlock 
trunks  and  the  jutting  granite  boulders.  He  moved 
slowly,  his  immense  muzzle  stretched  straight  out 
before  him,  the  bony  array  of  his  antlers  laid  back 
level  to  avoid  the  hindrance  of  clinging  boughs. 
Here  and  there  a  hollow  under  the  level  surface 
would  set  him  plunging  and  wallowing  for  a 
moment,  but  in  the  main  his  giant  strength  enabled 
him  to  forge  his  way  ahead  with  a  steady  majesty 


"LED    HIS    HERD   OFF   NORTHWARD.' 


/IDotberboofc  97 

of  might.  Behind  him,  in  dutiful  line,  came  the 
three  cows ;  and  behind  these,  again,  the  calves  fol- 
lowed at  ease  in  a  clear  trail,  their  muzzles  not 
outstretched  like  that  of  the  leader,  but  drooping 
almost  to  the  snow,  their  high  shoulders  working 
awkwardly  at  every  stride.  In  utter  silence,  like 
dark,  monstrous  spectres,  the  line  of  strange  shapes 
moved  on;  and  down  the  bewildering,  ever-rear- 
ranging forest  corridors  the  ominous  fingers  of  long 
moonlight  felt  curiously  after  them.  When  they 
had  journeyed  for  some  hours  the  herd  came  out 
upon  a  high  and  somewhat  bare  plateau,  dotted 
sparsely  with  clumps  of  aspen,  stunted  yellow  birch, 
and  spruce.  From  this  table-land  the  streaming 
northwest  winds  had  swept  the  snow  almost  clean, 
carrying  it  off  to  fill  the  neighbouring  valleys. 
The  big  bull,  who  knew  where  he  was  going  and 
had  no  will  to  linger  on  the  way,  halted  only  for 
a  few  minutes'  browsing,  and  then  started  forward 
on  a  long,  swinging  trot.  At  every  stride  his  loose- 
hung,  wide-cleft,  spreading  hoofs  came  sharply 
together  with  a  flat,  clacking  noise.  The  rest  of 
the  line  swept  dutifully  into  place,  and  the  herd 
was  off. 

But  not  all  the  herd.    One  of  the  calves,  tempted 
a  little  aside  by  a  thicket  of  special  juiciness  and 


98  TTbe  1fcfnt>refc  of  tbe  TOR) 

savour,  took  alarm,  and  thought  he  was  going  to 
be  left  behind.  He  sprang  forward,  a  powerful  but 
clumsy  stride,  careless  of  his  footing.  A  treacher- 
ous screen  of  snow-crusted  scrub  gave  way,  and  he 
slid  sprawling  to  the  bottom  of  a  little  narrow  gully 
or  crevice,  a  natural  pitfall.  His  mother,  looking 
solicitously  backward,  saw  him  disappear.  With 
a  heave  of  her  shoulders,  a  sweep  of  her  long, 
hornless  head,  an  anxious  flick  of  her  little  naked 
tail,  she  swung  out  of  the  line  and  trotted  swiftly 
to  the  rescue. 

There  was  nothing  she  could  do.  The  crevice 
was  some  ten  or  twelve  feet  long  and  five  or  six 
in  width,  with  sides  almost  perpendicular.  The  calf 
could  just  reach  its  bushy  edges  with  his  upstretched 
muzzle,  but  he  could  get  no  foothold  by  which  to 
clamber  out.  On  every  side  he  essayed  it,  falling 
back  with  a  hoarse  bleat  from  each  frightened  effort ; 
while  the  mother,  with  head  down  and  piteous  eyes 
staring  upon  him,  ran  round  and  round  the  rim  of 
the  trap.  At  last,  when  he  stopped  and  stood  with 
palpitating  sides  and  wide  nostrils  of  terror,  she, 
too,  halted.  Dropping  awkwardly  upon  her  knees 
in  the  snowy  bushes,  with  loud,  blowing  breaths,  she 
reached  down  her  head  to  nose  and  comfort  him 
with  her  sensitive  muzzle,  The  calf  leaned  up  as 


"STOOD    FOR    A    MOMENT    TO    SNIFF   THE    AIR." 


TPQUU)  /IDotberboofc  101 

close  as  possible  to  her  caresses.  Under  their 
tenderness  the  tremblings  of  his  gaunt,  pathetic 
knees  presently  ceased.  And  in  this  position  the 
two  remained  almost  motionless  for  an  hour,  under 
the  white,  unfriendly  moon.  The  herd  had  gone 
on  without  them. 

II. 

In  the  wolf's  cave  in  the  great  blue  and  white 
wall  of  plaster-rock,  miles  back  beside  the  rushing 
of  the  river,  there  was  famine.  The  she-wolf, 
heavy  and  near  her  time,  lay  agonising  in  the 
darkest  corner  of  the  cave,  licking  in  grim  silence 
the  raw  stump  of  her  right  foreleg.  Caught  in  a 
steel  trap,  she  had  gnawed  off  her  own  paw  as  the 
price  of  freedom.  She  could  not  hunt;  and  the 
hunting  was  bad  that  winter  in  the  forests  by  the 
blue  and  white  wall.  The  wapiti  deer  had  migrated 
to  safer  ranges,  and  her  gray  mate,  hunting  alone, 
was  hard  put  to  it  to  keep  starvation  from  the  cave. 

The  gray  wolf  trotted  briskly  down  the  broken 
face  of  the  plaster-rock,  in  the  full  glare  of  the 
moon,  and  stood  for  a  moment  to  sniff  the  air  that 
came  blowing  lightly  but  keenly  over  the  stiff  tops 
of  the  forest.  The  wind  was  clean.  It  gave  him 
no  tidings  of  a  quarry.  Descending  hurriedly  the 


102  zrbe  Ikinfcreb  of  tbe  TJEUib 

last  fifty  yards  of  the  slope,  he  plunged  into  the 
darkness  of  the  fir  woods.  Soft  as  was  the  snow 
in  those  quiet  recesses,  it  was  yet  sufficiently  packed 
to  support  him  as  he  trotted,  noiseless  and  alert,  on 
the  broad-spreading  pads  of  his  paws.  Furtive 
and  fierce,  he  slipped  through  the  shadow  like  a 
ghost.  Across  the  open  glades  he  fleeted  more 
swiftly,  a  bright  and  sinister  shape,  his  head  swing- 
ing a  little  from  side  to  side,  every  sense  upon  the 
watch.  His  direction  was  pretty  steadily  to  the 
west  of  north. 

He  had  travelled  long,  till  the  direction  of 
the  moon-shadows  had  taken  a  different  angle  to  his 
path,  when  suddenly  there  came  a  scent  upon  the 
wind.  He  stopped,  one  foot  up,  arrested  in  his 
stride.  The  gray,  cloudy  brush  of  his  tail  stiffened 
out.  His  nostrils,  held  high  to  catch  every  waft 
of  the  new  scent,  dilated;  and  the  edges  of  his 
upper  lip  came  down  over  the  white  fangs,  from 
which  they  had  been  snarlingly  withdrawn.  His 
pause  was  but  for  a  breath  or  two.  Yes,  there  was 
no  mistaking  it.  The  scent  was  moose  —  very  far 
off,  but  moose,  without  question.  He  darted  for- 
ward at  a  gallop,  but  with  his  muzzle  still  held 
high,  following  that  scent  up  the  wind. 

Presently  he  struck  the  trail  of  the  herd.     An 


103 

instant's  scrutiny  told  his  trained  sense  that  there 
were  calves  and  young  cows,  one  or  another  of 
which  he  might  hope  to  stampede  by  his  cunning. 
The  same  instant's  scrutiny  revealed  to  him  that 
the  herd  had  passed  nearly  an  hour  ahead  of  him. 
Up  went  the  gray  cloud  of  his  tail  and  down  went 
his  nose;  and  then  he  straightened  himself  to  his 
top  speed,  compared  to  which  the  pace  wherewith 
he  had  followed  the  scent  up  the  wind  was  a  mere 
casual  sauntering. 

When  he  emerged  upon  the  open  plateau  and 
reached  the  spot  where  the  herd  had  scattered  to 
browse,  he  slackened  his  pace  and  went  warily, 
peering  from  side  to  side.  The  cow-moose,  lying 
down  in  the  bushes  to  fondle  her  imprisoned  young, 
was  hidden  from  his  sight  for  the  moment ;  and  so 
it  chanced  that  before  he  discovered  her  he  came 
between  her  and  the  wind.  That  scent  —  it  was 
the  taint  of  death  to  her.  It  went  through  her 
frame  like  an  electric  shock.  With  a  snort  of  fear 
and  fury  she  heaved  to  her  feet  and  stood,  wide- 
eyed  and  with  lowered  brow,  facing  the  menace. 

The  wolf  heard  that  snorting  challenge,  and  saw 
the  awkward  bulk  of  her  shoulders  as  she  rose 
above  the  scrub.  His  jaws  wrinkled  back  tightly, 
baring  the  full  length  of  his  keen  white  fangs,  and 


io4          Ube  Iktnfcrefc  of  tbe 

a  greenish  phosphorescent  film  seemed  to  pass  sud- 
denly across  his  narrowed  eyeballs.  But  he  did 
not  spring  at  once  to  the  attack.  He  was  surprised. 
Moreover,  he  inferred  the  calf,  from  the  presence 
of  the  cow  apart  from  the  rest  of  the  herd.  And 
a  full-grown  cow-moose,  with  the  mother  fury  in 
her  heart,  he  knew  to  be  a  dangerous  adversary. 
Though  she  was  hornless,  he  knew  the  force  of  her 
battering  front,  the  swift,  sharp  stroke  of  her  hoof, 
the  dauntless  intrepidity  of  her  courage.  Further, 
though  his  own  courage  and  the  avid  urge  of  his 
hunger  might  have  led  him  under  other  circum- 
stances to  attack  forthwith,  to-night  he  knew  that 
he  must  take  no  chances.  The  cave  in  the  blue 
and  white  rocks  was  depending  on  his  success.  His 
mate,  wounded  and  heavy  with  young  —  if  he  let 
himself  get  disabled  in  this  hunting  she  must  perish 
miserably.  With  prudent  tactics,  therefore,  he 
circled  at  a  safe  distance  around  the  hidden  pit; 
and  around  its  rim  circled  the  wary  mother,  pre- 
senting to  him  ceaselessly  the  defiance  of  her  huge 
and  sullen  front.  By  this  means  he  easily  concluded 
that  the  calf  was  a  prisoner  in  the  pit.  This  being 
the  case,  he  knew  that  with  patience  and  his  experi- 
enced craft  the  game  was  safely  his.  He  drew  off 
some  half-dozen  paces,  and  sat  upon  his  haunches 


"AROUND    ITS    RIM    CIRCLED   THE    WARY    MOTHER." 


-o 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


TKttflfc  fl&otberboofc  107 

contemplatively  to  weigh  the  situation.  Everything 
had  turned  out  most  fortunately  for  his  hunting, 
and  food  would  no  longer  be  scarce  in  the  cave  of 

the  painted  rocks. 

in. 

That  same  night,  in  a  cabin  of  unutterable  loneli- 
ness some  miles  to  the  west  of  the  trail  from  the 
moose-yard,  a  sallow-faced,  lean  backwoodsman  was 
awakened  by  the  moonlight  streaming  into  his  face 
through  the  small  square  window.  He  glanced  at 
the  embers  on  the  open  hearth,  and  knew  that  for 
the  white  maple  logs  to  have  so  burned  down  he 
must  have  been  sleeping  a  good  six  hours.  And 
he  had  turned  in  soon  after  the  early  winter  sunset. 
Rising  on  his  elbow,  he  threw  down  the  gaudy 
patchwork  quilt  of  red,  yellow,  blue,  and  mottled 
squares,  which  draped  the  bunk  in  its  corner  against 
the  rough  log  walls.  He  looked  long  at  the  thin 
face  of  his  wife,  whose  pale  brown  hair  lay  over 
the  bare  arm  crooked  beneath  her  cheek.  Her  lips 
looked  pathetically  white  in  the  decolourising  rays 
which  streamed  through  the  window.  His  mouth, 
stubbled  with  a  week's  growth  of  dark  beard, 
twitched  curiously  as  he  looked.  Then  he  got  up, 
very  noiselessly.  Stepping  across  the  bare,  hard 
room,  whose  austerity  the  moon  made  more  austere, 


io8          ube  mtnfcret)  ot  tbe  TKHfR> 

he  gazed  into  a  trundle-bed  where  a  yellow-haired, 
round-faced  boy  slept,  with  the  chubby  sprawling 
legs  and  arms  of  perfect  security.  The  lad's  face 
looked  pale  to  his  troubled  eyes. 

"  It's  fresh  meat  they  want,  the  both  of  'em,"  he 
muttered  to  himself.  "  They  can't  live  and  thrive 
on  pork  an'  molasses,  nohow !  " 

His  big  fingers,  clumsily  gentle,  played  for  a 
moment  with  the  child's  yellow  curls.  Then  he 
pulled  a  thick,  gray  homespun  hunting-shirt  over 
his  head,  hitched  his  heavy  trousers  up  under  his 
belt,  clothed  his  feet  in  three  pairs  of  home-knit 
socks  and  heavy  cowhide  moccasins,  took  down  his 
rifle,  cartridge-pouch,  and  snowshoes  from  their 
nails  on  the  moss-chinked  wall,  cast  one  tender  look 
on  the  sleepers'  faces,  and  slipped  out  of  the  cabin 
door  as  silently  as  a  shadow. 

"I'll  have  fresh  meat  for  them  before  next 
sundown,"  he  vowed  to  himself. 

Outside,  amid  the  chips  of  his  chopping,  with 
a  rough  well-sweep  on  one  hand  and  a  rougher  barn 
on  the  other,  he  knelt  to  put  on  his  snowshoes.  The 
cabin  stood,  a  desolate,  silver-gray  dot  in  the  waste 
of  snow,  naked  to  the  steely  skies  of  winter.  With 
the  curious  improvidence  of  the  backwoodsman,  he 
had  cut  down  every  tree  in  the  neighbourhood  of 


TOUilb  /Ifcotberboob  109 

the  cabin,  and  the  thick  woods  which  might  so 
well  have  sheltered  him  stood  acres  distant  on 
every  side.  When  he  had  settled  the  thongs  of  his 
snowshoes  over  his  moccasins  quite  to  his  satis- 
faction, he  straightened  himself  with  a  deep  breath, 
pulled  his  cap  well  down  over  his  ears,  slung  his 
rifle  over  his  shoulder,  and  started  out  with  the 
white  moon  in  his  face. 

In  the  ancient  forest,  among  the  silent  wilderness 
folk,  things  happen  with  the  slow  inexorableness 
of  time.  For  days,  for  weeks,  nothing  may  befall. 
Hour  may  tread  noiselessly  on  hour,  apparently 
working  no  change;  yet  all  the  time  the  forces  are 
assembling,  and  at  last  doom  strikes.  The  violence 
is  swift,  and  soon  done.  And  then  the  great,  still 
world  looks  inscrutable,  unhurried,  changeless  as 
before. 

So,  after  long  tranquillity,  the  forces  of  fate  were 
assembling  about  that  high  plateau  in  the  wilder- 
ness. The  backwoodsman  could  no  longer  endure 
to  see  the  woman  and  boy  pining  for  the  tonic, 
vitalising  juices  of  fresh  meat.  He  was  not  a 
professional  hunter.  Absorbed  in  the  clearing  and 
securing  of  a  farm  in  the  free  forest,  he  cared  not 
to  kill  for  the  killing's  sake.  For  his  own  part,  he 
was  well  content  with  his  salt  pork,  beans  and 


trbe  Ikfnbreb  of  tbe 

molasses,  and  corn-meal  mush;  but  when  occasion 
called,  he  could  handle  a  rifle  as  backwoodsmen 
should.  On  this  night,  he  was  all  hunter,  and  his 
quiet,  wide-open  eye,  alert  for  every  woodland  sign, 
had  a  fire  in  it  that  would  have  looked  strange  to 
the  wife  and  child. 

His  long  strides  carried  him  swiftly  through 
the  glimmering  glades.  Journeying  to  the  north 
of  east,  as  the  gray  wolf  had  to  the  north  of  west, 
he  too,  before  long,  struck  the  trail  of  the  moose, 
but  at  a  point  far  beyond  that  at  which  the  wolf 
had  come  upon  it.  So  trampled  and  confused  a 
trail  it  was,  however,  that  for  a  time  he  took  no 
note  of  the  light  wolf  track  among  the  heavy  foot- 
prints of  the  moose.  Suddenly  it  caught  his  eye 
—  one  print  on  a  smooth  spread  of  snow,  empha- 
sised in  a  pour  of  unobstructed  radiance.  He 
stopped,  scrutinised  the  trail  minutely  to  assure 
himself  he  had  but  a  single  wolf  to  deal  with,  then 
resumed  his  march  with  new  zest  and  springier 
pace.  Hunting  was  not  without  its  relish  for  him 
when  it  admitted  some  savour  of  the  combat. 

The  cabin  stood  in  the  valley  lands  just  back  of 
the  high  plateau,  and  so  it  chanced  that  the  back- 
woodsman had  not  far  to  travel  that  night.  Where 
the  trail  broke  into  the  open,  he  stopped,  and  rec- 


TKttflb  /tootberboofc  «t 

onnoitred  cautiously  through  a  screen  of  hemlock 
boughs.  He  saw  the  big  gray  wolf  sitting  straight 
up  on  his  haunches,  his  tongue  hanging  out,  con- 
templating securely  his  intended  prey.  He  saw  the 
dark  shape  of  the  cow-moose,  obstinately  confront- 
ing her  foe,  her  hindquarters  backed  close  up  to 
the  edge  of  the  gully.  He  caught  the  fierce  and 
anxious  gleam  of  her  eyes,  as  she  rolled  them  back- 
ward for  an  instant's  reassuring  glance  at  her 
young  one.  And,  though  he  could  not  see  the  calf 
in  its  prisoning  pit,  he  understood  the  whole  situ- 
ation. 

Well,  there  was  a  bounty  on  wolf-snouts,  and  this 
fellow's  pelt  was  worth  considering.  As  for  the 
moose,  he  knew  that  not  a  broadside  of  cannon 
would  scare  her  away  from  that  hole  in  the  rocks 
so  long  as  the  calf  was  in  it.  He  took  careful  aim 
from  his  covert.  At  the  report  the  wolf  shot  into 
the  air,  straightened  out,  and  fell  upon  the  snow, 
kicking  dumbly,  a  bullet  through  his  neck.  As  the 
light  faded  from  his  fierce  eyes,  with  it  faded  out 
a  vision  of  the  cave  in  the  painted  rocks.  In  half 
a  minute  he  lay  still;  and  the  cow-moose,  startled 
by  his  convulsive  leaps  more  than  by  the  rifle-shot, 
blew  and  snorted,  eyeing  him  with  new  suspicion. 
Her  spacious  flank  was  toward  the  hunter.  He, 


it*          tTbe  Iktnbreb  of  tbe 

with  cool  but  hasty  fingers,  slipped  a  fresh  cartridge 
into  the  breech,  and  aimed  with  care  at  a  spot  low 
down  behind  the  fore-shoulder. 

Again  rang  out  the  thin,  vicious  report,  slapping 
the  great  silences  in  the  face.  The  woodsman's 
aim  was  true.  With  a  cough  the  moose  fell  for- 
ward on  her  knees.  Then,  with  a  mighty,  shud- 
dering effort,  she  got  up,  turned  about,  and  fell 
again  with  her  head  over  the  edge  of  the  crevice. 
Her  awkward  muzzle  touched  and  twitched  against 
the  neck  of  the  frightened  calf,  and  with  a  heavy 
sigh  she  lay  still. 

The  settler  stepped  out  from  his  hiding-place, 
and  examined  with  deep  satisfaction  the  results  of 
his  night's  hunting.  Already  he  saw  the  colour 
coming  back  into  the  pale  cheeks  of  the  woman  and 
the  child.  The  wolf's  pelt  and  snout,  too,  he  thought 
to  himself,  would  get  them  both  some  little  things 
they'd  like,  from  the  cross-roads  store,  next  time 
he  went  in  for  corn-meal.  Then,  there  was  the 
calf  —  no  meat  like  moose-veal,  after  all.  He 
drew  his  knife  from  its  sheath.  But,  no;  he  hated 
butchering.  He  slipped  the  knife  back,  reloaded  his 
rifle,  stepped  to  the  side  of  the  pit,  and  stood 
looking  down  at  the  baby  captive,  where  it  leaned 
nosing  in  piteous  bewilderment  at  the  head  of  its 
dead  mother. 


/IDotberbo<rt>  113 

Again  the  woodsman  changed  his  mind.  He  bit 
off  a  chew  of  black  tobacco,  and  for  some  moments 
stood  deliberating,  stubbly  chin  in  hand.  "  I'll  save 
him  for  the  boy  to  play  with  and  bring  up,"  he  at 
last  decided. 


t>ome$icfcne$e  of  ftebonfca 

'HE  April  night,  softly  chill  and  full  of 
the  sense  of  thaw,  was  closing  down 
over  the  wide  salt  marshes.  Near  at 
hand  the  waters  of  the  Tantramar,  resting  at  full 
tide,  glimmered  through  the  dusk  and  lapped  faintly 
among  the  winter-ruined  remnants  of  the  sedge. 
Far  off  —  infinitely  far  it  seemed  in  that  illusive 
atmosphere,  which  was  clear,  yet  full  of  the  ghosts 
of  rain  —  the  last  of  daylight  lay  in  a  thin  streak, 
pale  and  sharp,  along  a  vast  arc  of  the  horizon. 
Overhead  it  was  quite  dark;  for  there  was  no 
moon,  and  the  tenuous  spring  clouds  were  suffi- 
cient to  shut  out  the  stars.  They  clung  in  mid- 
heaven,  but  kept  to  their  shadowy  ranks  without 
descending  to  obscure  the  lower  air.  Space  and 
mystery,  mystery  and  space,  lay  abroad  upon  the 
vague  levels  of  marsh  and  tide. 

Presently,  from  far  along  the  dark  heights  of 
the  sky,  came  voices,  hollow,  musical,  confused. 
Swiftly  they  journeyed  nearer;  they  grew  louder. 

117 


us          Ube  Ikinbret)  of  tbe 

The  sound  —  not  vibrant,  yet  strangely  far-carry- 
ing—  was  a  clamorous  monotony  of  honk-a-honk, 
honk-a-honk,  honka,  honka,  honk,  honk.  It  hinted 
of  wide  distance  voyaged  over  on  tireless  wings, 
of  a  tropic  winter  passed  in  feeding  amid  remote, 
high-watered  meadows  of  Mexico  and  Texas,  of 
long  flights  yet  to  go,  toward  the  rocky  tarns  of 
Labrador  and  the  reed  beds  of  Ungava.  As  the 
sound  passed  straight  overhead  the  listener  on  the 
marsh  below  imagined,  though  he  could  not  see, 
the  strongly  beating  wings,  the  outstretched  necks 
and  heads,  the  round,  unswerving  eyes  of  the 
wild  goose  flock  in  its  V-shaped  array,  winnowing 
steadily  northward  through  the  night.  But  this 
particular  flock  was  not  set,  as  it  chanced,  upon 
an  all-night  journey.  The  wise  old  gander  winging 
at  the  head  of  the  V  knew  of  good  feeding-grounds 
near  by,  which  he  was  ready  to  revisit.  He  led 
the  flock  straight  on,  above  the  many  windings  of 
the  Tantramar,  till  its  full-flooded  sheen  far  below 
him  narrowed  and  narrowed  to  a  mere  brook. 
Here,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  the  uplands,  were  a 
number  of  shallow,  weedy,  fresh-water  lakes,  with 
shores  so  choked  with  thickets  and  fenced  apart 
with  bogs  as  to  afford  a  security  which  his  years 
and  broad  experience  had  taught  him  to  value. 


fliomesicfeness  ot  ikebonfea      119 

Into  one  of  these  lakes,  a  pale  blur  amid  the  thick 
shadows  of  the  shores,  the  flock  dropped  with  heavy 
splashings.  A  scream  or  two  of  full-throated  con- 
tent, a  few  flappings  of  wings  and  rufflings  of  plu- 
mage in  the  cool,  and  the  voyagers  settled  into  quiet. 
All  night  there  was  silence  around  the  flock,  save 
for  the  whispering  seepage  of  the  snow  patches 
that  still  lingered  among  the  thickets.  With  the 
first  creeping  pallor  of  dawn  the  geese  began  to 
feed,  plunging  their  long  black  necks  deep  into  the 
water  and  feeling  with  the  sensitive  inner  edges 
of  their  bills  for  the  swelling  root-buds  of  weed 
and  sedge.  When  the  sun  was  about  the  edge  of 
the  horizon,  and  the  first  rays  came  sparkling,  of 
a  chilly  pink  most  luminous  and  pure,  through  the 
lean  traceries  of  the  brushwood,  the  leader  raised 
his  head  high  and  screamed  a  signal.  With  answer- 
ing cries  and  a  tempestuous  splashing  the  flock 
flapped  for  a  few  yards  along  the  surface  of  the 
water.  Then  they  rose  clear,  formed  quickly  into 
rank,  and  in  their  spacious  V  went  honking  north- 
ward over  the  half-lighted,  mysterious  landscape. 
But,  as  it  chanced,  not  all  of  the  flock  set  out 
with  that  morning  departure.  There  was  one  pair, 
last  year's  birds,  upon  whom  had  fallen  a  weari- 
ness of  travel.  Perhaps  in  the  coils  of  their  brains 


120          Ube  Ifctnfcrefc  of  tbe  WfU> 

lurked  some  inherited  memory  of  these  safe  resting- 
places  and  secluded  feeding-grounds  of  the  Midgic 
lakes.  However  that  may  have  been,  they  chose 
to  stay  where  they  were,  feeling  in  their  blood  no 
call  from  the  cold  north  solitudes.  Dipping  and 
bowing,  black  neck  by  neck,  they  gave  no  heed 
to  the  leader's  signal,  nor  to  the  noisy  going  of 
the  flock.  Pushing  briskly  with  the  black  webs  of 
their  feet  against  the  discoloured  water,  they  swam 
to  the  shore  and  cast  about  for  a  place  to  build 
their  nest. 

There  was  no  urgent  hurry,  so  they  chose  not 
on  that  day  nor  the  next.  When  they  chose,  it 
was  a  little  bushy  islet  off  a  point  of  land,  well 
tangled  with  alder  and  osier  and  a  light  flotsam  of 
driftwood.  The  nest,  in  the  heart  of  the  tangle, 
was  an  apparently  haphazard  collection  of  sticks  and 
twigs,  well  raised  above  the  damp,  well  lined  with 
moss  and  feathers.  Here,  in  course  of  days,  there 
accumulated  a  shining  cluster  of  six  large  white 
eggs.  But  by  this  time  the  spring  freshet  had  gone 
down.  The  islet  was  an  islet  no  longer,  but  a 
mere  adjunct  of  the  point,  which  any  inquisitive 
foot  might  reach  dry  shod.  Now  just  at  this  time 
it  happened  that  a  young  farmer,  who  had  a  curious 
taste  for  all  the  wild  kindred  of  wood,  and  flood, 


Homesickness  of  ftebonfea       121 

and  air,  came  up  from  the  Lower  Tantramar  with 
a  wagon-load  of  grist  for  the  Midgic  mill.  While 
his  buckwheat  and  barley  were  a-grinding,  he 
thought  of  a  current  opinion  to  the  effect  that  the 
wild  geese  were  given  to  nesting  in  the  Midgic  lakes. 
"  If  so,'*  said  he  to  himself,  "  this  is  the  time  they 
would  be  about  it."  Full  of  interest,  a  half-hour's 
tramp  through  difficult  woods  brought  him  to  the 
nearest  of  the  waters.  An  instinct,  an  intuition 
born  of  his  sympathy  with  the  furtive  folk,  led  him 
to  the  point,  and  out  along  the  point  to  that  once 
islet,  with  its  secret  in  the  heart  of  the  tangle.  Vain 
were  the  furious  hissings,  the  opposing  wings,  the 
wide  black  bills  that  threatened  and  oppugned  him. 
With  the  eager  delight  of  a  boy  he  pounced  upon 
those  six  great  eggs,  and  carried  them  all  away. 
"  They  will  soon  turn  out  another  clutch,"  said  he 
to  himself,  as  he  left  the  bereaved  pair,  and  tramped 
elatedly  back  to  the  mill.  As  for  the  bereaved  pair, 
being  of  a  philosophic  spirit,  they  set  themselves  to 
fulfil  as  soon  as  possible  his  prophecy. 

On  the  farm  by  the  Lower  Tantramar,  in  a  hogs- 
head half  filled  with  straw  and  laid  on  its  side  in 
a  dark  corner  of  the  tool-shed,  those  six  eggs  were 
diligently  brooded  for  four  weeks  and  two  days 
by  a  comfortable  gray  and  white  goose  of  the  com- 


Iktnfcrefc  of  tbe 

mon  stock.  When  they  hatched,  the  good  gray  and 
white  mother  may  have  been  surprised  to  find  her 
goslings  of  an  olive  green  hue,  instead  of  the  bright 
golden  yellow  which  her  past  experience  and  that 
of  her  fellows  had  taught  her  to  expect.  She  may 
have  marvelled,  too,  at  their  unwonted  slenderness 
and  activity.  These  trivial  details,  however,  in  no 
way  dampened  the  zeal  with  which  she  led  them 
to  the  goose  pond,  or  the  fidelity  with  which  she 
pastured  and  protected  them.  But  rats,  skunks, 
sundry  obscure  ailments,  and  the  heavy  wheels  of 
the  farm  wagon,  are  among  the  perils  which,  the 
summer  through,  lie  in  wait  for  all  the  children  of 
the  feathered  kin  upon  the  farm;  and  so  it  came 
about  that  of  the  six  young  ones  so  successfully 
hatched  from  the  wild  goose  eggs,  only  two  lived 
till  the  coming  of  autumn  brought  them  full  plumage 
and  the  power  of  flight.  Before  the  time  of  the 
southward  migration  came  near,  the  young  farmer 
took  these  two  and  clipped  from  each  the  strong 
primaries  of  their  right  wings.  "  They  seem  con- 
tented enough,  and  tame  as  any,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  but  you  never  can  tell  what'll  happen  when  the 
instinct  strikes  'em." 

Both    the   young   wild    geese   were    fine   males. 
Their  heads  and  long,  slim  necks  were  black,  as 


Homesickness  of  Ifcebonfca      123 

were  also  their  tails,  great  wing  feathers,  bills,  and 
feet.  Under  the  tail  their  feathers  were  of  snowiest 
white,  and  all  the  other  portions  of  their  bodies  a 
rich  grayish  brown.  Each  bore  on  the  side  of  its 
face  a  sharply  defined  triangular  patch  of  white, 
mottled  with  faint  brown  markings  that  would  dis- 
appear after  his  first  moult.  In  one  the  white  cheek 
patches  met  under  the  throat.  This  was  a  large, 
strongly  built  bird,  of  a  placid  and  domestic  temper. 
He  was  satisfied  with  the  undistinguished  gray 
companions  of  the  flock.  He  was  content,  like  them, 
to  gutter  noisily  with  his  discriminating  bill  along 
the  shallow  edges  of  the  pond,  to  float  and  dive  and 
flap  in  the  deeper  centre,  to  pasture  at  random  over 
the  wet  meadow,  biting  off  the  short  grasses  with 
quick,  sharp,  yet  gracefully  curving  dabs.  Goose 
pond  and  wet  meadow  and  cattle-trodden  barnyard 
bounded  his  aspirations.  When  his  adult  voice 
came  to  him,  all  he  would  say  was  honk,  honk,  con- 
templatively, and  sometimes  honk-a-honk  when  he 
flapped  his  wings  in  the  exhilarating  coolness  of 
the  sunrise.  The  other  captive  was  of  a  more 
restless  temperament,  slenderer  in  build,  more  eager 
and  alert  of  eye,  less  companionable  of  mood.  He 
was,  somehow,  never  seen  in  the  centre  of  the  flock 
—  he  never  seemed  a  part  of  it.  He  fed,  swam, 


Ufoe  Ifcfnfcrefc  of  tbe  MfU> 

rested,  preened  himself,  always  a  little  apart.  Often, 
when  the  others  were  happily  occupied  with  their 
familiar  needs  and  satisfactions,  he  would  stand 
motionless,  his  compact,  glossy  head  high  in  air, 
looking  to  the  north  as  if  in  expectation,  listening 
as  if  he  awaited  longed-for  tidings.  The  triangular 
white  patch  on  each  side  of  his  head  was  very 
narrow,  and  gave  him  an  expression  of  wildness; 
yet  in  reality  he  was  no  more  wild,  or  rather  no 
more  shy,  than  any  others  of  the  flock.  None, 
indeed,  had  so  confident  a  fearlessness  as  he.  He 
would  take  oats  out  of  the  farmer's  hand,  which 
none  of  the  rest  quite  dared  to  do. 

Until  late  in  the  autumn,  the  lonely,  uncomraded 
bird  was  always  silent.  But  when  the  migrating 
flocks  began  to  pass  overhead,  on  the  long  southward 
trail,  and  their  hollow  clamour  was  heard  over  the 
farmstead  night  and  morning,  he  grew  more  rest- 
less. He  would  take  a  short  run  with  outspread 
wings,  and  then,  feeling  their  crippled  inefficiency, 
would  stretch  himself  to  his  full  height  and  call,  a 
sonorous,  far-reaching  cry  —  ke-honk-a,  ke-honk-a. 
From  this  call,  so  often  repeated  throughout  Octo- 
ber and  November,  the  farmer  named  him  Kehonka. 
The  farmer's  wife  favoured  the  more  domesticated 
and  manageable  brother,  who  could  be  trusted 


"  HE     WOULD     STAND     MOTIONLESS,    HIS     COMPACT,     GLOSSY     HEAD 
HIGH   IN   AIR." 


TTbe  Uiomesicfeness  of  Ikebonfca       127 

never  to  stray.  But  the  farmer,  who  mused  deeply 
over  his  furrows,  and  half  wistfully  loved  the  wild 
kindred,  loved  Kehonka,  and  used  to  say  he  would 
not  lose  the  bird  for  the  price  of  a  steer.  "  That 
there  bird,"  he  would  say,  "  has  got  dreams  away 
down  in  his  heart.  Like  as  not,  he  remembers 
things  his  father  and  mother  have  seen,  up  amongst 
the  ice  cakes  and  the  northern  lights,  or  down 
amongst  the  bayous  and  the  big  southern  lilies." 
But  all  his  sympathy  failed  to  make  him  repent  of 
having  clipped  Kehonka's  wing. 

During  the  long  winter,  when  the  winds  swept 
fiercely  the  open  marshes  of  the  Tantramar,  and  the 
snow  piled  in  high  drifts  around  the  barns  and  wood 
piles,  and  the  sheds  were  darkened,  and  in  the  sun 
at  noonday  the  strawy  dungheaps  steamed,  the  rest 
of  the  geese  remained  listlessly  content.  But  not  so 
Kehonka.  Somewhere  back  of  his  brain  he  cher- 
ished pre-natal  memories  of  warm  pools  in  the 
South,  where  leafy  screens  grew  rank,  and  the  sweet- 
rooted  water-plants  pulled  easily  from  the  deep 
black  mud,  and  his  true  kindred  were  screaming 
to  each  other  at  the  oncoming  of  the  tropic  dark. 
While  the  flock  was  out  in  the  barnyard,  pulling 
lazily  at  the  trampled  litter,  and  snatching  scraps  of 
the  cattle's  chopped  turnips,  Kehonka  would  stand 


TRinfcrefc  ot  tbe 

aloof  by  the  water-trough,  his  head  erect,  listening, 
longing.  As  the  winter  sun  sank  early  over  the 
fir  woods  back  of  the  farm,  his  wings  would  open, 
and  his  desirous  cry  would  go  echoing  three  or 
four  times  across  the  still  countryside  —  ke-honk-a 
—  ke-honk-a  —  ke-honk-a!  Whereat  the  farmer's 
wife,  turning  her  buckwheat  pancakes  over  the  hot 
kitchen  stove,  would  mutter  impatiently;  but  the 
farmer,  slipping  to  the  door  of  the  cow-stable  with 
the  bucket  of  feed  in  his  hand,  would  look  with 
deep  eyes  of  sympathy  at  the  unsatisfied  bird.  "  He 
wants  something  that  we  don't  grow  round  here/' 
he  would  say  to  himself;  and  little  by  little  the 
bird's  restlessness  came  to  seem  to  him  the  concrete 
embodiment  of  certain  dim  outreachings  of  his  own. 
He,  too,  caught  himself  straining  his  gaze  beyond 
the  marsh  horizons  of  Tantramar. 

When  the  winter  broke,  and  the  seeping  drifts 
shrank  together,  and  the  brown  of  the  ploughed 
fields  came  through  the  snow  in  patches,  and  the 
slopes  leading  down  to  the  marshland  were  sud- 
denly loud  with  running  water,  Kehonka's  restless- 
ness grew  so  eager  that  he  almost  forgot  to  feed.  It 
was  time,  he  thought,  for  the  northward  flight  to 
begin.  He  would  stand  for  hours,  turning  first  one 
dark  eye,  then  the  other,  toward  the  soft  sky  over- 


Ube  Homesickness  of  Ikebonfca      129 

head,  expectant  of  the  V-shaped  journeying  flock, 
and  the  far-off  clamour  of  voices  from  the  South 
crying  to  him  in  his  own  tongue.  At  last,  when 
the  snow  was  about  gone  from  the  open  fields,  one 
evening  at  the  shutting-in  of  dark,  the  voices  came. 
He  was  lingering  at  the  edge  of  the  goose  pond, 
the  rest  having  settled  themselves  for  the  night, 
when  he  heard  the  expected  sounds.  Honk-a-honk, 
honk-a-honk,  honka,  honka,  honk,  honk,  they  came 
up  against  the  light  April  wind,  nearer,  nearer, 
nearer.  Even  his  keen  eye  could  not  detect  them 
against  the  blackness;  but  up  went  his  wings, 
and  again  and  again  he  screamed  to  them  sono- 
rously. In  response  to  his  call,  their  flight  swung 
lower,  and  the  confusion  of  their  honking  seemed 
as  if  it  were  going  to  descend  about  him.  But  the 
wary  old  gander,  their  leader,  discerned  the  roofs, 
man's  handiwork,  and  suspected  treachery.  At  his 
sharp  signal  the  flock,  rising  again,  streamed  off 
swiftly  toward  safer  feeding-grounds,  and  left 
Kehonka  to  call  and  call  unanswered.  Up  to  this 
moment  all  his  restlessness  had  not  led  him  to  think 
of  actually  deserting  the  farmstead  and  the  alien 
flock.  Though  not  of  them  he  had  felt  it  necessary 
to  be  with  them.  His  instinct  for  other  scenes  and 
another  fellowship  had  been  too  little  tangible  to 


130          Hbe  ftfnfcre&  of  tbe 

move  him  to  the  snapping  of  established  ties.  But 
now,  all  his  desires  at  once  took  concrete  form.  It 
was  his,  it  belonged  to  himself  —  that  strong,  free 
flight,  that  calling  through  the  sky,  that  voyaging 
northward  to  secret  nesting-places.  In  that  wild 
flock  which  had  for  a  moment  swerved  downward 
to  his  summons,  or  in  some  other  flock,  was  his 
mate.  It  was  mating  season,  and  not  until  now 
had  he  known  it. 

Nature  does  sometimes,  under  the  pressure  of 
great  and  concentrated  desires,  make  unexpected 
effort  to  meet  unforeseen  demands.  All  winter 
long,  though  it  was  not  the  season  for  such  growth, 
Kehonka's  clipped  wing-primaries  had  been  striving 
to  develop.  They  had  now,  contrary  to  all  custom, 
attained  to  an  inch  or  so  of  effective  flying  web. 
Kehonka's  heart  was  near  bursting  with  his  desire 
as  the  voices  of  the  unseen  flock  died  away.  He 
spread  his  wings  to  their  full  extent,  ran  some 
ten  paces  along  the  ground,  and  then,  with  all  his 
energies  concentrated  to  the  effort,  he  rose  into  the 
air,  and  flew  with  swift-beating  wings  out  into  the 
dark  upon  the  northward  trail.  His  trouble  was 
not  the  lack  of  wing  surface,  but  the  lack  of  balance. 
One  wing  being  so  much  less  in  spread  than  the 
other,  he  felt  a  fierce  force  striving  to  turn  him 


tTbe  Homesickness  of  Ifcebonfca       131 

over  at  every  stroke.  It  was  the  struggle  to  counter- 
act this  tendency  that  wore  him  out.  His  first  des- 
perate effort  carried  him  half  a  mile.  Then  he 
dropped  to  earth,  in  a  bed  of  withered  salt-grass 
all  awash  with  the  full  tide  of  Tantramar.  Resting 
amid  the  salt-grass,  he  tasted  such  an  exultation 
of  freedom  that  his  heart  forgot  its  soreness  over 
the  flock  which  had  vanished.  Presently,  however, 
he  heard  again  the  sound  that  so  thrilled  his  every 
vein.  Weird,  hollow,  echoing  with  memories  and 
tidings,  it  came  throbbing  up  the  wind.  His  own 
strong  cry  went  out  at  once  to  meet  it  —  ke-honk-a, 
ke-honk-a,  ke-honk-a.  The  voyagers  this  time  were 
flying  very  low.  They  came  near,  nearer,  and  at 
last,  in  a  sudden  silence  of  voices,  but  a  great  flap- 
ping of  wings,  they  settled  down  in  the  salt-grass 
all  about  him. 

The  place  was  well  enough  for  a  night's  halt  —  a 
shallow,  marshy  pool  which  caught  the  overflow  of 
the  highest  spring  tides,  and  so  was  not  emptied 
by  the  ebb.  After  its  first  splashing  descent  into  the 
water,  which  glimmered  in  pale  patches  among  the 
grass  stems,  every  member  of  the  flock  sat  for  some 
moments  motionless  as  statues,  watchful  for  un- 
known menace;  and  Kehonka,  his  very  soul  trem- 
bling with  desire  achieved,  sat  motionless  among 


i3i          Ube  fdnfcrefc  of  tbe  TJGlito 

them.  Then,  there  being  no  sign  of  peril  at  hand, 
there  was  a  time  of  quiet  paddling  to  and  fro, 
a  scuttling  of  practised  bills  among  the  grass-roots, 
and  Kehonka  found  himself  easily  accepted  as  a 
member  of  the  flock.  Happiness  kept  him  restless 
and  on  the  move  long  after  the  others  had  their 
bills  tucked  under  their  wings.  In  the  earliest  gray 
of  dawn,  when  the  flock  awoke  to  feed,  Kehonka 
fed  among  them  as  if  he  had  been  with  them  all 
the  way  on  their  flight  from  the  Mexican  plains. 
But  his  feeding  was  always  by  the  side  of  a  young 
female  who  had  not  yet  paired.  It  was  interrupted 
by  many  little  courtesies  of  touching  bill  and 
bowing  head,  which  were  received  with  plain  favour ; 
for  Kehonka  was  a  handsome  and  well  marked 
bird.  By  the  time  the  sky  was  red  along  the  east 
and  strewn  with  pale,  blown  feathers  of  amber 
pink  toward  the  zenith,  his  swift  wooing  was  next 
door  to  winning.  He  had  forgotten  his  captivity 
and  clipped  wing.  He  was  thinking  of  a  nest  in 
the  wide  emptiness  of  the  North. 

When  the  signal-cry  came,  and  the  flock  took 
flight,  Kehonka  rose  with  them.  But  his  prelimi- 
nary rush  along  the  water  was  longer  than  that 
of  the  others,  and  when  the  flock  formed  into  flying 
order  he  fell  in  at  the  enrl  of  the  longer  leg  of  the 


FELL   WITH    A   GREAT    SPLASH    INTO    THE    CHANNEL   OF   THE 
TANTRAMAR." 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 

IFQBgiP 


ttbe  JKomesicbness  of  Ifcebonfea       135 

V,  behind  the  weakest  of  the  young  geese.  This 
would  have  been  a  humiliation  to  him,  had  he  taken 
thought  of  it  at  all;  but  his  attention  was  all  ab- 
sorbed in  keeping  his  balance.  When  the  flock 
found  its  pace,  and  the  cold  sunrise  air  began  to 
whistle  past  the  straight,  bullet-like  rush  of  their 
flight,  a  terror  grew  upon  him.  He  flew  much  bet- 
ter than  he  had  flown  the  night  before ;  but  he  soon 
saw  that  this  speed  of  theirs  was  beyond  him.  He 
would  not  yield,  however.  He  would  not  lag 
behind.  Every  force  of  his  body  and  his  brain  went 
into  that  flight,  till  his  eyes  blurred  and  his  heart 
seemed  on  the  point  of  bursting.  Then,  suddenly, 
with  a  faint,  despairing  note,  he  lurched  aside,  shot 
downward,  and  fell  with  a  great  splash  into  the 
channel  of  the  Tantramar.  With  strong  wings,  and 
level,  unpausing  flight,  the  flock  went  on  to  its 
North  without  him. 

Dazed  by  the  fall,  and  exhausted  by  the  intensity 
of  his  effort,  Kehonka  floated,  moveless,  for  many 
minutes.  The  flood-tide,  however,  racing  inland, 
was  carrying  him  still  northward ;  and  presently  he 
began  to  swim  in  the  same  direction.  In  his  sick 
heart  glowed  still  the  vision  of  the  nest  in  the  far- 
off  solitudes,  and  he  felt  that  he  would  find  there, 
waiting  for  him,  the  strong-winged  mate  who  had 


136          ttbe  fdnbreb  of  tbe 

left  him  behind.  Half  an  hour  later  another  flock 
passed  honking  overhead,  and  he  called  to  them; 
but  they  were  high  up,  and  feeding  time  was  past. 
They  gave  no  sign  in  answer.  He  made  no  attempt 
to  fly  after  them.  Hour  after  hour  he  swam  on 
with  the  current,  working  ever  north.  When  the 
tide  turned  he  went  ashore,  still  following  the  river, 
till  its  course  changed  toward  the  east;  whereupon 
he  ascended  the  channel  of  a  small  tributary  which 
flowed  in  on  the  north  bank.  Here  and  there  he 
snatched  quick  mouthfuls  of  sprouting  grasses,  but 
he  was  too  driven  by  his  desire  to  pause  for  food. 
Sometimes  he  tried  his  wings  again,  covering  now 
some  miles  at  each  flight,  till  by  and  by,  losing  the 
stream  because  its  direction  failed  him,  he  found 
himself  in  a  broken  upland  country,  where  progress 
was  slow  and  toilsome.  Soon  after  sunset,  troubled 
because  there  was  no  water  near,  he  again  took 
wing,  and  over  dark  woods  which  filled  him  with 
apprehension  he  made  his  longest  flight.  When 
about  spent  he  caught  a  small  gleaming  of  water  far 
below  him,  and  alighted  in  a  little  woodland  glade 
wherein  a  brook  had  overflowed  low  banks. 

The  noise  of  his  abrupt  descent  loudly  startled 
the  wet  and  dreaming  woods.  It  was  a  matter  of 
interest  to  all  the  furry,  furtive  ears  of  the  forest 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 


Ube  Homesickness  of  Ifcebonfea       139 

for  a  half-mile  round.  But  it  was  in  no  way 
repeated.  For  perhaps  fifteen  minutes  Kehonka 
floated,  neck  erect,  head  high  and  watchful,  in  the 
middle  of  the  pool,  with  no  movement  except  the 
slight,  unseen  oaring  of  his  black-webbed  feet, 
necessary  to  keep  the  current  from  bearing  him  into 
the  gloom  of  the  woods.  This  gloom,  hedging  him 
on  every  side,  troubled  him  with  a  vague  fear.  But 
in  the  open  of  the  mid-pool,  with  two  or  three  stars 
peering  faintly  through  the  misted  sky  above  him, 
he  felt  comparatively  safe.  At  last,  very  far  above, 
he  heard  again  that  wild  calling  of  his  fellows,  — 
honk-a-honk,  honk-a-honk,  honka,  honka,  honk, 
honk,  —  high  and  dim  and  ghostly,  for  these  rough 
woodlands  had  no  appeal  for  the  journeying  flocks. 
Remote  as  the  voices  were,  however,  Kehonka  an- 
swered at  once.  His  keen,  sonorous,  passionate 
cry  rang  strangely  on  the  night,  three  times.  The 
flock  paid  no  heed  to  it  whatever,  but  sped  on  north- 
ward with  unvarying  flight  and  clamour;  and  as 
the  wizard  noise  passed  beyond,  Kehonka,  too 
weary  to  take  wing,  followed  eagerly  to  the  north- 
erly shore  of  the  pool,  ran  up  the  wet  bank,  and 
stood  straining  after  it. 

His  wings  were  half  spread  as  he  stood  there, 
quivering  with  his  passion.     In  his  heart  was  the 


140 


tlbe  1fcfnbret>  of  tbe  tKflfib 


hunger  of  the  quest.  In  his  eyes  was  the  vision 
of  nest  and  mate,  where  the  serviceberry  thicket 
grew  by  the  wide  sub-arctic  waters.  The  night 
wind  blew  steadily  away  from  him  to  the  under- 
brush close  by,  or  even  in  his  absorption  he  would 
have  noticed  the  approach  of  a  menacing,  musky 
smell.  But  every  sense  was  now  numb  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  great  desire.  There  was  no  warning 
for  him. 

The  underbrush  rustled,  ever  so  softly.  Then 
a  small,  delicately  moving,  fine-furred  shape,  the 
discourager  of  quests,  darted  stealthily  forth,  and 
with  a  bound  that  was  feathery  in  its  blown  light- 
ness, seeming  to  be  uplifted  by  the  wide-plumed  tail 
that  balanced  it,  descended  on  Kehonka's  body. 
There  was  a  thin  honk,  cut  short  by  keen  teeth 
meeting  with  a  crunch  and  a  twist  in  the  glossy 
slim  blackness  of  Kehonka's  neck.  The  struggle 
lasted  scarcely  more  than  two  heart-beats.  The  wide 
wings  pounded  twice  or  thrice  upon  the  ground, 
in  fierce  convulsion.  Then  the  red  fox,  with  a  side- 
wise  jerk  of  his  head,  flung  the  heavy,  trailing 
carcass  into  a  position  for  its  easy  carrying,  and 
trotted  off  with  it  into  the  darkness  of  the  woods. 


SAVOURY    MEATS 


Savoury  flfceats 

the  bushy  thicket  the  doe  stood  trem- 
bling over  the  young  one  to  which  she 
had  given  birth  in  the  early  part  of  the 
night.  A  light  wind  began  to  breathe  just  before 
dawn,  and  in  its  languid  throbbing  the  slim  twigs 
and  half  unfolded  leaves  from  time  to  time  rustled 
stiffly.  Over  the  tree-tops,  and  from  the  open 
spaces  in  the  wood,  could  be  seen  the  first  pallor  of 
approaching  day;  and  one  pink  thread,  a  finger 
long,  outlined  a  lonely  fragment  of  the  horizon. 
But  in  the  bushy  thicket  it  was  dark.  The  mother 
could  not  see  her  little  one,  but  kept  feeling  it  anx- 
iously and  lightly  with  her  silken  nose.  She  was 
waiting  till  it  should  be  strong  enough  to  rise  and 
nurse. 

As  the  pink  thread  became  scarlet  and  crept 
along  a  wider  arc,  and  the  cold  light  spread,  there 
came  from  a  far-off  hillside  the  trailing  echo  of 
a  howl.  It  was  the  cry  of  a  wolf  hunting  alone. 
It  hardly  penetrated  the  depths  of  the  bushy  thicket, 

'43 


144          Ube  ftinbrefc  of  tbe  TKHtifc 

but  the  doe  heard  it,  and  faced  about  to  the  point 
whence  it  came,  and  stamped  angrily  with  slim, 
sharp  hoof.  Her  muzzle  was  held  high,  and  her 
nostrils  expanded  tensely,  weighing  and  analysing 
every  scent  that  came  on  the  chill  air.  But  the 
dread  cry  was  not  repeated.  No  smell  of  danger 
breathed  in  her  retreat.  The  light  stole  at  last 
through  the  tangled  branches.  Then  the  little 
one  struggled  to  its  feet,  its  spotted  sides  still 
heaving  under  the  stress  of  their  new  expansion; 
and  the  doe,  with  lowered  head  and  neck  bent  far 
around,  watched  it  with  great  eyes  as  it  pressed 
its  groping  mouth  against  her  udder  and  learned  to 
feed. 

Presently  the  sides  of  branch  and  stem  and  leaf 
facing  the  dawn  took  on  a  hue  of  pink.  A  male 
song-sparrow,  not  yet  feeling  quite  at  home  after 
his  journey  from  the  South,  sang  hesitatingly  from 
the  top  of  a  bush.  A  pair  of  crows  squawked  gut- 
turally  and  confidentially  in  a  tree-top,  where  they 
contemplated  nesting.  Everything  was  wet,  but 
it  was  a  tonic  and  stimulating  wetness,  like  that  of 
a  vigorous  young  swimmer  climbing  joyously  out 
of  a  cool  stream.  The  air  had  a  sharp  savour,  a 
smell  of  gummy  aromatic  buds,  and  sappy  twigs, 
and  pungent  young  leaves.  But  the  body  of  the 


Savoury  fl&eats  145 

scent,  which  seemed  like  the  very  person  of  spring, 
was  the  affluence  of  the  fresh  earth,  broken  and 
turned  up  to  the  air  by  millions  of  tiny  little  thrust- 
ing blades.  Presently,  when  the  light  fell  into  the 
thicket  with  a  steeper  slant,  the  doe  stepped  away, 
and  left  her  little  one  lying,  hardly  to  be  discerned, 
on  a  spotted  heap  of  dead  leaves  and  moss.  She 
stole  noiselessly  out  of  the  thicket.  She  was  going 
to  pasture  on  the  sprouting  grasses  of  a  neighbour- 
ing wild  meadow,  and  to  drink  at  the  amber  stream 
that  bordered  it.  She  knew  that,  in  her  absence, 
the  little  one's  instinct  would  teach  him  to  keep 
so  still  that  no  marauder's  eye  would  be  likely  to 
detect  him.  $ 

Two  or  three  miles  away  from  the  thicket,  in  the 
heart  of  the  same  deep-wooded  wilderness,  stood  a 
long,  low-roofed  log  cabin,  on  the  edge  of  a  narrow 
clearing.  The  yard  was  strewn  with  chips,  some 
fresh  cut  and  some  far  gone  in  decay.  A  lean 
pig  rooted  among  them,  turning  up  the  black 
soil  that  lay  beneath.  An  axe  and  black  iron 
pot  stood  on  the  battered  step  before  the  door. 
In  the  window  appeared  the  face  of  an  old  man, 
gazing  blankly  out  upon  the  harsh-featured  scene. 

The  room  where  the  old  man  sat  was  roughly 
ceiled  and  walled  with  brown  boards.  The  sunlight 


146 


Ube  Tkinbreb  of  tbe 


streamed  in  the  window,  showing  the  red  stains  of 
rust  on  the  cracked  kitchen  stove,  and  casting  an 
oblong  figure  of  brightness  on  the  faded  patchwork 
quilt  which  covered  the  low  bed  in  the  corner.  Two 
years  earlier  John  Hackett  had  been  an  erect  and 
powerful  woodsman,  strong  in  the  task  of  carving 
himself  a  home  out  of  the  unyielding  wilderness. 
Then  his  wife  had  died  of  a  swift  consumption.  A 
few  weeks  later  he  had  been  struck  down  with  paral- 
ysis, from  which  he  partly  recovered  to  find  himself 
grown  suddenly  senile  and  a  helpless  invalid.  On 
his  son,  Silas,  fell  the  double  task  of  caring  for 
him  and  working  the  scant,  half-subjugated  farm. 

Streaks  and  twines  of  yellowish  white  were  scat- 
tered thickly  amid  the  ragged  blackness  of  the  old 
man's  hair  and  beard.  The  strong,  gaunt  lines  of 
his  features  consorted  strangely  with  the  piteous 
weakness  that  now  trembled  in  his  eyes  and  on  his 
lower  lip.  He  sat  in  a  big  home-made  easy  chair, 
which  Silas  had  constructed  for  him  by  sawing  a 
quarter-section  out  of  a  hogshead.  This  rude  frame 
the  lad  had  lined  laboriously  with  straw  and  coarse 
sacking,  and  his  father  had  taken  great  delight 
in  it. 

A  soiled  quilt  of  blue,  magenta,  and  white  squares 
wrapped  the  old  man's  legs,  as.  he  sat  by  the  window 


Savours  /IDeats  147 

waiting  for  Silas  to  come  in.  His  withered  hands 
picked  ceaselessly  at  the  quilt. 

"  I  wish  Si'd  come !  I  want  my  breakfast !  "  he 
kept  repeating,  now  wistfully,  now  fretfully.  His 
gaze  wandered  from  the  window  to  the  stove,  from 
the  stove  to  the  window,  with  slow  regularity. 
When  the  pig  came  rooting  into  his  line  of  vision, 
it  vexed  him,  and  he  muttered  peevishly  to  himself. 

"  That  there  hog'll  hev  the  whole,  place  rooted  up. 
I  wish  Si'd  come  and  drive  him  out  of  that !  " 

At  last  Si  came.  The  old  man's  face  smoothed 
itself,  and  a  loving  light  came  into  his  eyes  as  the 
lad  adjusted  the  pillow  at  his  head.  The  doings 
of  the  hog  were  forgotten. 

Si  bustled  about  to  get  breakfast,  the  old  man's 
eyes  following  every  movement.  The  tea  was  placed 
on  the  back  of  the  stove  to  draw.  A  plate  of  cold 
buckwheat  cakes  was  brought  out  of  the  cupboard 
and  set  on  the  rude  table.  A  cup,  with  its  handle 
broken  off,  was  half  filled  with  molasses,  for  "  sweet- 
enin',"  and  placed  beside  the  buckwheat  cakes. 
Then  Si  cut  some  thick  slices  of  salt  pork  and 
began  to  fry  them.  They  "  sizzled  "  cheerfully  in 
the  pan,  and  to  Si,  with  his  vigorous  morning  appe- 
tite, the  odour  was  rare  and  fine.  But  the  old  man 
was  troubled  by  it.  His  hands  picked  faster  at 
the  quilt. 


Ube  •fcfnfcrefc  of  tbe  WiR> 

"  Si,"  said  he,  in  a  quavering  voice,  that  rose  and 
fell  without  regard  to  the  force  of  the  words,  "  I 
know  ye  can't  help  it,  but  my  stomach's  turned  agin 
salt  pork !  It's  been  a-comin'  on  me  this  long  while, 
that  I  couldn't  eat  it  no  more.  An'  now  it's  come. 
Pork,  pork,  pork,  —  I  can't  eat  it  no  more,  Si ! 
But  there,  I  know  ye  can't  help  it.  Ye're  a  good 
boy,  a  kind  son,  Si,  and  ye  can't  help  it !  " 

Si  went  on  turning  the  slices  with  an  old  fork 
till  the  quavering  voice  stopped.  Then  he  cried, 
cheerfully : 

"  Try  an*  eat  a  leetle  mite  of  it,  father.  This 
'ere  tea's  fine,  an'll  sort  of  wash  it  down.  An* 
while  I'm  a-working  in  the  back  field  this  morning 
I'll  try  and  think  of  somethin'  to  kinder  tickle  your 
appetite !  " 

The  old  man  shook  his  head  gloomily. 

"  I  can't  eat  no  more  fried  pork,  Si,"  said  he, 
"  not  if  I  die  fur  it !  I  know  ye  can't  help  it !  An' 
it  don't  matter,  fur  I  won't  be  here  much  longer 
anyways.  It'll  be  a  sight  better  fur  you,  Si,  when 
I'm  gone  —  but  I  kinder  don't  like  to  leave  ye  here 
all  alone.  Seems  like  I  kinder  keep  the  house  warm 
fur  ye  till  ye  come  home !  I  don't  like  to  think  of 
ye  comin'  in  an'  findin'  the  house  all  empty,  Si! 
But  it's  been  powerful  empty,  with  jist  you  an' 


Savoury  fl&eats  149 

me,  sence  mother  died.  It  useter  be  powerful  good, 
Si,  didn't  it,  comin'  home  and  findin'  her  a-waitin' 
fur  us,  an'  hot  supper  ready  on  the  table,  an'  the 
lamp  a-shinin'  cheerful?  An'  what  suppers  she 
could  cook!  D'ye  mind  the  pies,  an'  the  stews,  an' 
the  fried  deer's  meat?  I  could  eat  some  of  that 
fried  deer's  meat  now,  Si.  An'  I  feel  like  it  would 
make  me  better.  It  ain't  no  fault  of  yours,  Si,  but 
I  can't  eat  no  more  salt  pork !  " 

Si  lifted  the  half-browned  slices  of  yellow  and 
crimson  on  to  a  plate,  poured  the  gravy  over  them, 
and  set  the  plate  on  the  table.  Then  he  dragged 
his  father's  chair  over  to  the  table,  helped  him  to 
tea  and  buckwheat  cakes  and  molasses,  and  sat 
down  to  his  own  meal.  The  fried  pork  disappeared 
swiftly  in  his  strong  young  jaws,  while  his  father 
nibbled  reluctantly  at  the  cold  and  soggy  cakes. 
Si  cleared  the  table,  fed  the  fire,  dragged  his  father 
back  to  the  sunny  window,  and  then  took  down  the 
long  gun,  with  the  powder-horn  and  shot-pouch, 
which  hung  on  pegs  behind  the  door. 

The  old  man  noticed  what  he  was  doing. 

"  Ain't  ye  goin'  to  work  in  the  back  field,  Silas  ?  " 
he  asked,  plaintively. 

"  No,  father,"  said  the  lad,  "  I'm  goin'  a-gunnin'. 
Ef  I  don't  have  some  of  that  fried  deer's  meat  fur 


is°          Ube  frtnfcret)  of  tbe  TOfifc 

your  supper  to-night,  like  mother  useter  fix  fur 
ye,  my  name  ain't  Silas  Hackett !  " 

He  set  a  tin  of  fresh  water  on  the  window  ledge 
within  reach  of  his  father's  hand,  gave  one  tender 
touch  to  the  pillow,  and  went  out  quickly.  The 
old  man's  eyes  strained  after  him  till  he  disappeared 
in  the  woods. 

Silas  walked  with  the  noiseless  speed  of  the 
trained  woodsman.  His  heart  was  big  with  pity  for 
his  father,  and  heavy  with  a  sense  of  approaching 
loss.  But  instinctively  his  eyes  took  note  of  the 
new  life  beginning  to  surge  about  him  in  myriad 
and  tumultuous  activity.  It  surged,  too,  in  the 
answering  current  of  his  strong  young  blood;  and 
from  time  to  time  he  would  forget  his  heaviness 
utterly  for  a  moment,  thrilled  through  and  through 
by  a  snatch  of  bird  song,  or  a  glimpse  of  rose-red 
maple  buds,  or  a  gleam  of  ineffable  blueness  through 
the  tree-tops,  or  a  strange,  clean-smelling  wind  that 
made  him  stop  and  stretch  his  lungs  to  take  it  in. 
Suddenly  he  came  upon  a  fresh  deer-track. 

The  sorcery  of  spring  was  forgotten.  His  heavi- 
ness was  forgotten.  He  was  now  just  the  hunter, 
keen  upon  the  trail  of  the  quarry.  Bending  low, 
silent  as  a  shadow,  peering  like  a  panther,  he  slipped 
between  the  great  trunks,  and  paused  in  the  fringe 


Savours 

of  downy  catkined  willows  that  marked  the 
meadow's  edge.  On  the  other  side  of  the  meadow 
he  saw  the  form  of  a  doe,  drinking.  He  heard  on 
the  wet  air  the  sharp,  chiming  brawl  of  the  brook, 
fretted  by  some  obstruction.  He  took  a  careful 
aim.  The  doe  lifted  her  head,  satisfied,  and 
ready  to  return  to  her  young  one  in  the  thicket. 
A  shot  rang  out  across  the  meadow,  and  she  sprang 
into  the  air,  to  fall  back  with  her  slender  muzzle  in 
the  stream,  her  forelegs  bent  beneath  her,  her  hind 
legs  twitching  convulsively  for  a  moment  before 
they  stiffened  out  upon  the  grass. 

As  Silas  staggered  homeward  he  was  no  longer 
the  keen  hunter.  He  no  longer  heard  the  summons 
of  the  spring  morning.  All  he  thought  of  was  the 
pleasure  which  would  light  up  the  wan  and  piteous 
face  of  the  old  man  in  the  chair  by  the  window 
when  the  savoury  smell  of  the  frying  deer's  meat 
would  fill  the  dusky  air  of  the  cabin.  As  he  crossed 
the  chip-strewn  yard,  he  saw  his  father's  face 
watching  for  him.  He  dropped  his  burden  at  the 
door,  and  entered,  panting  and  triumphant. 

"  I've  got  it  fur  ye,  father ! "  he  cried,  softly 
touching  the  tremulous  hands  with  his  big  brown 
fingers. 

"  I'm  right  glad,  Si,"  quavered  the  old  man,  "  but 


152          Ube  Ikinbreb  of  tbe 

I'm  a  sight  gladder  to  see  ye  back!  The  hours  is 
long  when  ye're  not  by  me!  Oh,  but  ye  do  mind 
me  of  your  mother,  Si !  " 

Si  took  the  carcass  to  the  shed,  dressed  it  care- 
fully, and  then,  after  cutting  several  thick  slices 
from  the  haunch,  stowed  it  in  the  little  black  hole 
of  a  cellar,  beneath  the  cabin  floor.  He  put  some 
fair  potatoes  to  boil,  and  proceeded  to  fry  the  juicy 
steaks  which  the  old  man  loved.  The  fragrance  of 
them  filled  the  cabin.  The  old  man's  eyes  grew 
brighter,  and  his  hands  less  tremulous.  When  the 
smoking  and  sputtering  dish  was  set  upon  the  table, 
Silas  again  drew  up  the  big  chair,  and  the  two  made 
a  joyous  meal.  The  old  man  ate  as  he  had  not 
eaten  for  months,  and  the  generous  warmth  of  the 
fresh  meat  put  new  life  into  his  withered  veins.  His 
under  lip  grew  firmer,  his  voice  steadier,  his  brain 
more  clear.  With  a  gladness  that  brought  tears 
into  his  eyes,  Silas  marked  the  change. 

"  Father/'  he  cried,  "  ye  look  more  like  yerself 
than  I've  seen  ye  these  two  years  past !  " 

And  the  old  man  replied,  with  a  ring  of  returning 
hope  in  his  voice : 

"  This  'ere  deer's  meat's  more'n  any  medicine. 
Ef  I  git  well,  ever,  seems  to  me  it'll  be  according  to 
what  I  eat  or  don't  eat,  more'n  anything  else." 


"TWO    GREEN    EYES,   CLOSE    TO   THE   GROUND." 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Savours  d&eats  155 

"  Whatever  ye  think'll  help  ye,  that  ye  shall  hev, 
father,"  declared  Silas,  "  ef  I  have  to  crawl  on 
hands  an'  knees  all  day  an'  all  night  fur  it !  " 

Meanwhile,  in  the  heart  of  the  bushy  thicket,  on 
the  spotted  heap  of  leaves,  lay  a  little  fawn,  waiting 
for  its  mother.  It  was  trembling  now  with  hunger 
and  chill.  But  its  instinct  kept  it  silent  all  day  long. 
The  afternoon  light  died  out.  Twilight  brought  a 
bitter  chill  to  the  depths  of  the  thicket.  When  night 
came,  hunger,  cold,  and  fear  at  last  overcame  the 
little  one's  muteness.  From  time  to  time  it  gave 
a  plaintive  cry,  then  waited,  and  listened  for  its 
mother's  coming.  The  cry  was  feeble,  but  there 
were  keen  ears  in  the  forest  to  catch  it.  There  came 
a  stealthy  crackling  in  the  bushes,  and  the  fawn 
struggled  to  its  feet  with  a  glad  expectation.  Two 
green  eyes,  close  to  the  ground,  floated  near.  There 
was  a  pounce,  a  scuffle  —  and  then  the  soft,  fierce 
whispering  sound  of  a  wildcat  satisfying  itself  with 
blood. 


ant) 

HOLLOW,  booming,  ominous  cry,  a 
great  voice  of  shadowy  doom,  rang  out 
suddenly  and  startled  the  dark  edges  of 
the  forest.  It  sounded  across  the  glimmering  pas- 
tures, vibrating  the  brown-violet  dusk,  and  made 
the  lame  old  woman  in  the  cabin  on  the  other  side 
of  the  clearing  shiver  with  vague  fears. 

But  not  vague  was  the  fear  which  shook  the  soul 
of  the  red  squirrel  where  he  crouched,  still  for  once 
in  his  restless  life,  in  the  crotch  of  a  thick  spruce- 
top.  Not  vague  was  the  fear  of  the  brooding  grouse 
in  the  far-off  withe-wood  thicket,  though  the  sound 
came  to  her  but  dimly  and  she  knew  that  the  menace 
of  it  was  not,  at  the  moment,  for  her.  And  least 
vague  of  all  was  the  terror  of  the  usually  unterrified 
weasel,  from  whose  cruel  little  eyes  the  red  flame 
of  the  blood-lust  faded  suddenly,  as  the  glow  dies 
out  of  a  coal;  for  the  dread  voice  sounded  very 
close  to  him,  and  it  required  all  his  nerve  to  hold 

'59 


160          ube  Ikfnbreb  of  tbe  TPOUlfc 

himself  rigidly  motionless  and  to  refrain  from  the 
start  which  would  have  betrayed  him  to  his  death. 

"  Whoo-hoo-oo-h' oo-oo ! "  boomed  the  call  again, 
seeming  to  come  from  the  tree-tops,  the  thickets, 
the  sky,  and  the  earth,  all  at  once,  so  that  creatures 
many  hundred  yards  apart  trembled  simultaneously, 
deeming  that  the  clutch  of  fate  was  already  at  their 
necks.  But  to  the  Boy,  as  he  let  down  the  pasture 
bars  with  a  clatter  and  turned  the  new-milked  cows 
in  among  the  twilight-coloured  hillocks,  the  sound 
brought  no  terror.  He  smiled  as  he  said  to  himself : 
"  There's  Hushwing  again  at  his  hunting.  I  must 
give  him  a  taste  of  what  it  feels  like  to  be  hunted." 
Then  he  strolled  across  the  pasture,  between  the 
black  stumps,  the  blueberry  patches,  the  tangles  of 
wild  raspberry;  pushed  softly  through  the  fringe 
of  wild  cherry  and  young  birch  saplings,  and  crept, 
soundless  as  a  snake,  under  the  branches  of  a  low- 
growing  hemlock.  Peering  out  from  this  covert  he 
could  see,  rising  solitary  at  the  back  of  an  open 
glade,  the  pale  and  naked  trunk  of  a  pine-tree,  which 
the  lightning  had  shattered. 

The  Boy's  eyes  were  keen  as  a  fish-hawk's,  and 
he  kept  them  fixed  upon  the  top  of  the  pine  trunk. 
Presently  it  seemed  as  if  the  spirit  of  the  dusk  took 
shadowy  form  for  an  instant.  There  was  a  sound- 


anfc  SHusbwfna  161 

less  sweeping  of  wings  down  the  glade,  and  the  next 
moment  the  pine  trunk  looked  about  two  feet  taller 
in  the  Boy's  eyes.  The  great  horned  owl  —  "  Hush- 
wing,"  the  Boy  had  christened  him,  for  the  ghostly 
silence  of  his  flight  —  had  returned  to  his  favourite 
post  of  observation,  whereon  he  stood  so  erect  and 
motionless  that  he  seemed  a  portion  of  the  pine 
trunk  itself. 

The  Boy  lay  still  as  a  watching  lynx,  being  minded 
to  spy  on  Hushwing  at  his  hunting.  A  moment 
more,  and  then  came  again  that  hollow  summons: 
Whoo-koo-hoo-who'o-oo;  and  the  great  owl  turned 
his  head  to  listen  as  the  echo  floated  through  the 
forest. 

The  Boy  heard,  a  few  paces  distant  from  him, 
the  snap  of  a  twig  wrhere  a  startled  hare  stirred 
clumsily.  The  sound  was  faint;  indeed  so  faint 
that  he  was  hardly  sure  whether  he  heard  or  imag- 
ined it;  but  to  the  wonderfully  wide  and  sensitive 
drum  of  the  owl's  ear  it  sounded  sharply  away  down 
at  the  foot  of  the  glade.  Ere  the  Boy  could  draw 
a  second  breath  he  saw  great  wings  hovering  at 
the  edge  of  the  thicket  close  at  hand.  He  saw  big, 
clutching  talons  outstretched  from  thick-feathered 
legs,  while  round  eyes,  fiercely  gleaming,  flamed 
upon  his  in  passing  as  they  searched  the  bush.  Once 


162          Ube  Ifcinbrefc  of  tbe 

the  great  wings  backed  off,  foiled  by  some  obstruc- 
tion which  the  Boy  could  not  see.  Then  they 
pounced  with  incredible  speed.  There  was  a  flap- 
ping and  a  scuffle,  followed  by  a  loud  squeak;  and 
Hushwing  winnowed  off  down  the  glade  bearing 
the  limp  form  of  the  hare  in  his  talons.  He  did 
not  stop  at  the  pine  trunk,  but  passed  on  toward  the 
deeper  woods. 

"  He's  got  a  mate  and  a  nest  'way  back  in  the 
cedar  swamp,  likely,"  said  the  Boy,  as  he  got  up, 
stretched  his  cramped  limbs,  and  turned  his  face 
homeward.  As  he  went,  he  schemed  with  subtle 
woodcraft  for  the  capture  of  the  wary  old  bird. 
He  felt  impelled  to  try  his  skill  against  the  ma- 
rauder's inherited  cunning  and  suspicion;  and  he 
knew  that,  if  he  should  succeed,  there  would  remain 
Hushwing's  yet  fiercer  and  stronger  mate  to  care 
for  the  little  owlets  in  the  nest. 

When  Hushwing  had  deposited  his  prey  beside 
the  nest,  in  readiness  for  the  next  meal  of  his  ever- 
hungry  nestlings,  he  sailed  off  again  for  a  hunt  on 
his  own  account.  Now  it  chanced  that  a  rare  visitor, 
a  wanderer  from  the  cliffy  hills  which  lay  many 
miles  back  of  Hushwing's  cedar  swamp,  had  come 
down  that  day  to  see  if  there  might  not  be  a  sheep 
or  a  calf  to  be  picked  up  on  the  outskirts  of  the 


anfc  musbwing  163 

settlements.  It  was  years  since  a  panther  had  been 
seen  in  that  neighbourhood  —  it  was  years,  indeed, 
since  that  particular  panther  had  strayed  from  his 
high  fastnesses,  where  game  was  plentiful  and  none 
dared  poach  on  his  preserves.  But  just  now  a 
camp  of  hunters  on  his  range  had  troubled  him 
seriously  and  scattered  his  game.  Gnawing  his 
heart  with  rage  and  fear,  he  had  succeeded  so  far 
in  evading  their  noisy  search,  and  had  finally  come 
to  seek  vengeance  by  taking  tribute  of  their  flocks. 
He  had  traversed  the  cedar  swamp,  and  emerging 
upon  the  wooded  uplands  he  had  come  across  a  cow- 
path  leading  down  to  the  trampled  brink  of  a  pond. 

"  Here,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  will  the  cattle 
come  to  drink,  and  I  will  kill  me  a  yearling  heifer." 
On  the  massive  horizontal  limb  of  a  willow  which 
overhung  the  trodden  mire  of  the  margin  he 
stretched  himself  to  await  the  coming  of  the  quarry. 
A  thick-leaved  beech  bough,  thrusting  in  among 
the  willow  branches,  effectually  concealed  him. 
Only  from  above  was  he  at  all  visible,  his  furry 
ears  and  the  crown  of  his  head  just  showing  over 
the  leafage. 

The  aerial  path  of  Hushwing,  from  his  nest  in 
the  swamp  to  his  watch-tower  on  the  clearing's 
edge,  led  him  past  the  pool  and  the  crouching 


164          tlbe  Utiufcrefc  of  tbe 

panther.  He  had  never  seen  a  panther,  and  he  had 
nothing  in  his  brain-furnishing  to  fit  so  formidable 
a  beast.  On  chance,  thinking  perhaps  to  strike  a 
mink  at  his  fishing  on  the  pool's  brink,  he  sounded 
his  Whoo-hoo-hoo-who'o-oo!  as  he  came  near.  The 
panther  turned  his  head  at  the  sound,  rustling  the 
leaves,  over  which  appeared  his  furry  ear-tips.  The 
next  instant,  to  his  rage  and  astonishment,  he  re- 
ceived a  smart  blow  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and 
sharp  claws  tore  the  tender  skin  about  his  ears. 
With  a  startled  snarl  he  turned  and  struck  upward 
with  his  armed  paw,  a  lightning  stroke,  at  the  un- 
seen assailant. 

But  he  struck  the  empty  air.  Already  was  Hush- 
wing  far  on  his  way,  a  gliding  ghost.  He  was  puz- 
zled over  the  strange  animal  which  he  had  struck; 
but  while  his  wits  were  yet  wondering,  those  mira- 
cles of  sensitiveness,  those  living  telephone  films 
which  served  him  for  ears,  caught  the  scratching  of 
light  claws  on  the  dry  bark  of  a  hemlock  some  ten 
paces  aside  from  his  line  of  flight.  Thought  itself 
could  hardly  be  more  silent  and  swift  than  was 
his  turning.  The  next  moment  his  noiseless  wings 
overhung  a  red  squirrel,  where  it  lay  flattened  to 
the  bark  in  the  crotch  of  the  hemlock.  Some  dream 
of  the  hunt  or  the  flight  had  awakened  the  little 


HE    STRUCK    THE    EMPTY    AIR. 


Bos  anb  IHusbwing  167 

animal  to  an  unseasonable  activity  and  betrayed  it 
to  its  doom.  There  was  a  shrill  squeal  as  those 
knife-like  talons  met  in  the  small,  furry  body ;  then 
Hushwing  carried  off  his  supper  to  be  eaten  com- 
fortably upon  his  watch-tower. 

Meanwhile  the  Boy  was  planning  the  capture  of 
the  wise  old  owl.  He  might  have  shot  the  bird 
easily,  but  wanton  slaughter  was  not  his  object,  and 
he  was  no  partisan  as  far  as  the  wild  creatures  were 
concerned.  All  the  furtive  folk,  fur  and  feather 
alike,  were  interesting  to  him,  even  dear  to  him 
in  varying  degrees.  He  had  no  grudge  against 
Hushwing  for.  his  slaughter  of  the  harmless  hare 
and  grouse,  for  did  not  the  big  marauder  show  equal 
zest  in  the  pursuit  of  mink  and  weasel,  snake  and 
rat?  Even  toward  that  embodied  death,  the  malig- 
nant weasel,  indeed,  the  Boy  had  no  antagonism, 
making  allowance  as  he  did  for  the  inherited  blood- 
lust  which  drove  the  murderous  little  animal  to 
defy  all  the  laws  of  the  wild  kindred  and  kill,  kill, 
kill,  for  the  sheer  delight  of  killing.  The  Boy's 
purpose  now  in  planning  the  capture  of  Hushwing 
was,  first  of  all,  to  test  his  own  woodcraft;  and, 
second,  to  get  the  bird  under  his  close  observation. 
He  had  a  theory  that  the  big  horned  owl  might 
be  tamed  so  as  to  become  an  interesting  and  highly 


168          ube  Ifcinfrrefc  of  tbe 

instructive  pet.  In  any  case,  he  was  sure  that  Hush- 
wing  in  captivity  might  be  made  to  contribute 
much  to  his  knowledge,  —  and  knowledge,  first- 
hand knowledge,  of  all  the  furtive  kindred  of  the 
wild,  knowledge  such  as  the  text-books  on  natural 
history  which  his  father's  library  contained  could 
not  give  him,  was  what  he  continually  craved. 

On  the  following  afternoon  the  Boy  went  early 
to  the  neighbourhood  of  Hushwing's  watch-tower. 
At  the  edge  of  a  thicket,  half  concealed,  but  open 
toward  the  dead  pine  trunk,  was  a  straggling  colony 
of  low  blueberry  bushes.  Where  the  blueberry 
bushes  rose  some  eight  or  ten  inches  above  the  top 
of  a  decaying  birch  stump  he  fixed  a  snare  of  rabbit 
wire.  To  the  noose  he  gave  a  diameter  of  about 
a  foot,  supporting  it  horizontally  in  the  tops  of  the 
bushes  just  over  the  stump.  The  cord  from  the 
noose  he  carried  to  his  hiding-place  of  the  previous 
evening,  under  the  thick-growing  hemlock.  Then 
he  went  home,  did  up  some  chores  upon  which  he 
depended  for  his  pocket-money,  and  arranged  with 
the  hired  man  to  relieve  him  for  that  evening  of 
his  duty  of  driving  the  cows  back  to  pasture  after 
the  milking.  Just  before  the  afternoon  began  to 
turn  from  brown  amber  to  rose  and  lilac  he  went 
back  to  the  glade  of  the  pine  trunk.  This  time  he 


Bos  anb  IHusbwina  l69 

took  with  him  the  body  of  one  of  the  big  gray  rats 
which  infested  his  father's  grain-bins.  The  rat 
he  fixed  securely  upon  the  top  of  the  stump  among 
the  blueberry  bushes,  exactly  under  the  centre  of 
the  snare.  Then  he  broke  off  the  tops  of  a  berry 
bush,  tied  the  stubs  together  loosely,  drew  them 
over,  ran  the  string  once  around  the  stump,  and 
carried  the  end  of  the  string  back  to  his  hiding- 
place  beside  the  cord  of  the  snare.  Pulling  the 
string  gently,  he  smiled  with  satisfaction  to  hear 
the  broken  twigs  scratch  seductively  on  the  stump, 
like  the  claws  of  a  small  animal.  Then  he  lay  down, 
both  cords  in  his  hand,  and  composed  himself  to 
a  season  of  patient  waiting. 

He  had  not  long  to  wait,  however;  for  Hush- 
wing  was  early  at  his  hunting  that  night.  The  Boy 
turned  away  his  scrutiny  for  just  one  moment,  as 
it  seemed  to  him;  but  when  he  looked  again  there 
was  Hushwing  at  his  post,  erect,  apparently  part 
of  the  pine  trunk.  Then  —  Whoo-hoo-hoo-who'o- 
oo  I  sounded  his  hollow  challenge,  though  the 
sunset  colour  was  not  yet  fading  in  the  west.  In- 
stantly the  Boy  pulled  his  string;  and  from  the 
stump  among  the  blueberry  bushes  came  a  gentle 
scratching,  as  of  claws.  Hushwing  heard  it. 
Lightly,  as  if  blown  on  a  swift  wind,  he  was  at 


170          ^be  Tfcin&refc  of  tbe 

the  spot.  He  struck.  His  great  talons  transfixed 
the  rat.  His  wings  beat  heavily  as  he  strove  to 
lift  it,  to  bear  it  off  to  his  nestlings.  But  what 
a  heavy  beast  it  was,  to  be  sure !  The  next  moment 
the  noose  of  rabbit  wire  closed  inexorably  upon 
his  legs.  He  loosed  his  grip  upon  the  rat  and  sprang 
into  the  air,  bewildered  and  terrified.  But  his  wings 
would  not  bear  him  the  way  he  wished  to  go.  In- 
stead, a  strange,  irresistible  force  was  drawing  him, 
for  all  the  windy  beating  of  his  pinions,  straight  to 
an  unseen  doom  in  the  heart  of  a  dense-growing 
hemlock. 

A  moment  more  and  he  understood  his  discomfi- 
ture and  the  completeness  of  it.  The  Boy  stood 
forth  from  his  hiding-place,  grinning;  and  Hush- 
wing  knew  that  his  fate  was  wholly  in  the  hands 
of  this  master  being,  whom  no  wild  thing  dared 
to  hunt.  Courageous  to  the  last,  he  hissed  fiercely 
and  snapped  his  sharp  beak  in  defiance;  but  the 
Boy  drew  him  down,  muffled  wing,  beak,  and  talons 
in  his  heavy  homespun  jacket,  bundled  him  under 
his  arm,  and  carried  him  home  in  triumph. 

:<  You'll  find  the  rats  in  our  oat-bins,"  said  he, 
"  fatter  than  any  weasel  in  the  wood,  my  Hush- 
wing." 

The  oat-bins  were  in  a  roomy  loft  at  one  end 


"  SETTLED    HIMSELF,    MUCH    DISCONCERTED,    ON    THE   BACK    OF 
AN    OLD    HAIRCLOTH    SOFA." 


^     OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Ube  JSos  ant)  Hiusbwina  173 

of  the  wood-shed.  The  loft  was  lighted  by  a  large 
square  window  in  the  gable,  arranged  to  swing 
back  on  hinges  like  a  door,  for  convenience  in  pass- 
ing the  bags  of  grain  in  and  out.  Besides  three 
large  oat-bins,  it  contained  a  bin  for  barley,  one 
for  buckwheat,  and  one  for  bran.  The  loft  was 
also  used  as  a  general  storehouse  for  all  sorts  of 
stuff  that  would  not  keep  well  in  a  damp  cellar; 
and  it  was  a  very  paradise  for  rats.  From  the 
wood-shed  below  admittance  to  the  loft  was  gained 
by  a  flight  of  open  board  stairs  and  a  spacious  trap- 
door. 

Mounting  these  stairs  and  lifting  the  trap-door, 
the  boy  carefully  undid  the  wire  noose  from  Hush- 
wing's  feathered  legs,  avoiding  the  keen  talons 
which  promptly  clutched  at  his  fingers.  Then  he 
unrolled  the  coat,  and  the  big  bird,  flapping  his 
wings  eagerly,  soared  straight  for  the  bright  square 
of  the  window.  But  the  sash  was  strong;  and 
the  glass  was  a  marvel  which  he  had  never  before 
encountered.  In  a  few  moments  he  gave  up  the 
effort,  floated  back  to  the  duskiest  corner  of  the  loft, 
and  settled  himself,  much  disconcerted,  on  the 
back  of  an  old  haircloth  sofa  which  had  lately  been 
banished  from  the  sitting-room.  Here  he  sat  im- 
movable, only  hissing  and  snapping  his  formidable 


174          Ube  TRiufcrefc  of  tbe 

beak  when  the  Boy  approached  him.  His  heart 
swelled  with  indignation  and  despair;  and,  real- 
ising the  futility  of  flight,  he  stood  at  bay.  As  the 
Boy  moved  around  him  he  kept  turning  his  great 
horned  head  as  if  it  were  on  a  pivot,  without 
changing  the  position  of  his  body;  and  his  round, 
golden  eyes,  with  their  piercing  black  pupils,  met 
those  of  his  captor  with  an  unflinching  directness 
beyond  the  nerve  of  any  four-footed  beast,  however 
mighty,  to  maintain.  The  daunting  mastery  of 
the  human  gaze,  which  could  prevail  over  the  gaze 
of  the  panther  or  the  wolf,  was  lost  upon  the  tame- 
less spirit  of  Hushwing.  Noting  his  courage,  the 
Boy  smiled  approval  and  left  him  alone  to  recover 
his  equanimity. 

The  Boy,  as  days  went  by,  made  no  progress 
whatever  in  his  acquaintance  with  his  captive,  who 
steadfastly  met  all  his  advances  with  defiance  of 
hissings  and  snapping  beak.  But  by  opening  the 
bins  and  sitting  motionless  for  an  hour  or  two  in 
the  twilight  the  Boy  was  able  to  make  pretty  careful 
study  of  Hushwing's  method  of  hunting.  The 
owl  would  sit  a  long  time  unstirring,  the  gleam 
of  his  eyes  never  wavering.  Then  suddenly  he 
would  send  forth  his  terrifying  cry,  —  and  listen. 
Sometimes  there  would  be  no  result.  At  other 


ttbe  Bos  anb  fliusbwfna  175 

times  the  cry  would  come  just  as  some  big  rat, 
grown  over-confident,  was  venturing  softly  across 
the  floor  or  down  into  the  toothsome  grain.  Start- 
led out  of  all  common  sense  by  that  voice  of  doom  at 
his  ear,  he  would  make  a  desperate  rush  for  cover. 
There  would  be  a  scrambling  on  the  floor  or  a 
scurrying  in  the  bin.  Then  the  great,  dim  wings 
would  hover  above  the  sound.  There  would  be  a 
squeak,  a  brief  scuffle;  and  Hushwing  would  float 
back  downily  to  devour  his  prey  on  his  chosen  perch, 
the  back  of  the  old  haircloth  sofa. 

For  a  fortnight  the  Boy  watched  him  assiduously, 
spending  almost  every  evening  in  the  loft.  At 
length  came  an  evening  when  not  a  rat  would  stir 
abroad,  and  Hushwing's  hunting-calls  were  hooted 
in  vain.  After  two  hours  of  vain  watching  the 
Boy's  patience  gave  out,  and  he  went  off  to  bed, 
promising  his  prisoner  a  good  breakfast  in  the 
morning  to  compensate  him  for  the  selfish  prudence 
of  the  rats.  That  same  night,  while  every  one  in 
the  house  slept  soundly,  it  chanced  that  a  thieving 
squatter  from  the  other  end  of  the  settlement  came 
along  with  a  bag,  having  designs  upon  the  well- 
filled  oat-bins. 

The  squatter  knew  where  there  was  a  short  and 
handy  ladder  leaning  against  the  tool-house.  He 


176          ZTbe  Ifciufcrefc  of  tbe  TRBU& 

had  always  been  careful  to  replace  it.  He  also 
knew  how  to  lift,  with  his  knife,  the  iron  hook 
which  fastened  —  but  did  not  secure  —  the  gable 
window  on  the  inside.  To-night  he  went  very 
stealthily,  because,  though  it  was  dark,  there  was 
no  wind  to  cover  the  sound  of  his  movements. 
Stealthily  he  brought  the  ladder  and  raised  it 
against  the  gable  of  the  loft.  Noiselessly  he 
mounted,  carrying  his  bag,  till  his  bushy,  hatless 
head  was  just  on  a  level  with  the  window-sill. 
Without  a  sound,  as  he  imagined,  his  knife-edge 
raised  the  hook  —  but  there  was  a  sound,  the  ghost 
of  a  sound,  and  the  marvellous  ear  of  Hushwing 
heard  it.  As  the  window  swung  back  the  thief's 
bushy  crown  appeared  just  over  the  sill.  "  Whoo- 
h ' oo-oo !"  shouted  Hushwing,  angry  and  hungry, 
swooping  at  the  seductive  mark.  He  struck  it  fair 
and  hard,  his  claws  gashing  the  scalp,  his  wings 
dealing  an  amazing  buffet. 

Appalled  by  the  cry  and  the  stroke,  the  sharp 
clutch,  the  great  smother  of  wing,  the  rascal 
screamed  with  terror,  lost  his  hold,  and  fell  to 
the  ground.  Nothing  was  further  from  his  imagi- 
nation than  that  his  assailant  should  be  a  mere  owl. 
It  was  rather  some  kind  of  a  grossly  inconsistent 
hobgoblin  that  he  thought  of,  sent  to  punish  him  for 


anD  lHu8bwin0  177 

the  theft  of  his  neighbour's  grain.  Leaving  the 
ladder  where  it  fell,  and  the  empty  bag  beside  it, 
he  ran  wildly  from  the  haunted  spot,  and  never 
stopped  till  he  found  himself  safe  inside  his  shanty 
door.  As  for  Hushwing,  he  did  not  wait  to  investi- 
gate this  second  mistake  of  his,  but  made  all  haste 
back  to  his  nest  in  the  swamp. 

The  frightened  outcry  of  the  thief  awoke  the 
sleepers  in  the  house,  and  presently  the  Boy  and 
his  father  came  with  a  lantern  to  find  out  what 
was  the  matter.  The  fallen  ladder,  the  empty  bag, 
the  open  window  of  the  loft,  told  their  own  story. 
When  the  Boy  saw  that  Hushwing  was  gone,  his 
face  fell  with  disappointment.  He  had  grown  very 
fond  of  his  big,  irreconcilable,  dauntless  captive. 

"  We  owe  Master  Hushwing  a  right  good  turn 
this  night,"  said  the  Boy's  father,  laughing.  "  My 
grain's  going  to  last  longer  after  this,  I'm  thinking." 

"  Yes,"  sighed  the  Boy,  "  Hushwing  has  earned 
his  freedom.  I  suppose  I  mustn't  bother  him  any 
more  with  snares  and  things." 

Meanwhile,  the  great  horned  owl  was  sitting  erect 
on  the  edge  of  his  nest  in  the  swamp,  one  talon 
transfixing  the  torn  carcass  of  a  mink,  while  his 
shining  eyes,  round  like  little  suns,  shone  happily 
upon  the  big-headed,  ragged-feathered,  hungry 
brood  of  owlets  at  his  feet. 


H  treason  of  Mature 

i  HE  full  moon  of  October,  deep  orange  in 
a  clear,  deep  sky,  hung  large  and  some- 
what distorted  just  over  the  wooded  hills 
that  rimmed  the  lake.  Through  the  ancient  forest, 
a  mixed  growth  of  cedar,  water-ash,  black  poplar, 
and  maple,-  with  here  and  there  a  group  of  hem- 
locks on  a  knoll,  the  light  drained  down  confusedly, 
a  bewildering  chaos  of  bright  patches,  lines,  and 
reticulations  amid  breadths  of  blackness.  On  the 
half -overshadowed  cove,  which  here  jutted  in  from 
the  lake,  the  mingling  of  light  and  darkness 
wrought  an  even  more  elusive  mystery  than  in  the 
wood.  For  the  calm  levels  just  breathed,  as  it  were, 
with  a  fading  remembrance  of  the  wind  which  had 
blown  till  sundown  over  the  open  lake.  The  pulse 
of  this  breathing  whimsically  shifted  the  reflections, 
and  caused  the  pallid  water-lily  leaves  to  uplift  and 
appeal  like  the  glimmering  hands  of  ghosts.  The 
stillness  was  perfect,  save  for  a  ceaseless,  faintly 
rhythmic  h-r-r-r-r-r-ing,  so  light  that  only  the  most 

181 


182          Ube  Ifcfnfcreb  of  tbe 

finely  attentive  ear,  concentrated  to  the  effort,  might 
distinguish  it.  This  was  the  eternal  breathing  of 
the  ancient  wood.  In  such  a  silence  there  was  noth- 
ing to  hint  of  the  thronging,  furtive  life  on  every 
side,  playing  under  the  moonlit  glamour  its  uneven 
game  with  death.  If  a  twig  snapped  in  the  dis- 
tance, if  a  sudden  rustle  somewhere  stirred  the  moss 
—  it  might  mean  love,  it  might  mean  the  inevi- 
table tragedy. 

Under  a  tall  water-ash  some  rods  back  from 
the  shore  of  the  cove,  there  was  a  sharp,  clacking 
sound,  and  a  movement  which  caused  a  huge  blur 
of  lights  and  shadows  to  differentiate  itself  all 
at  once  into  the  form  of  a  gigantic  bull-moose. 
The  animal  had  been  resting  quite  motionless  till 
the  tickling  of  some  insect  at  the  back  of  his  ear 
disturbed  him.  Lowering  his  head,  he  lifted  a 
hind  leg  and  scratched  the  place  with  sharp  strokes 
of  his  sprawling,  deeply  cloven  hoof;  and  the  two 
loose  sections  of  the  hoof  clacked  together  between 
each  stroke  like  castanets.  Then  he  moved  a  step 
forward,  till  his  head  and  fore-shoulders  came  out 
into  the  full  illumination  of  a  little  lane  of  moon- 
light pouring  in  betweeen  the  tree-tops. 

He  was  a  prince  of  his  kind,  as  he  stood  there 
with  long,  hooked,  semi-prehensile  muzzle  thrust 


H  {Treason  of  Iftature  183 

forward,  his  nostrils  dilating  to  savour  the  light  airs 
which  drifted  almost  imperceptibly  through  the 
forest.  His  head,  in  this  attitude,  —  an  attitude  of 
considering  watchfulness,  —  was  a  little  lower  than 
the  thin-maned  ridge  of  his  shoulders,  over  which 
lay  back  the  vast  palmated  adornment  of  his  antlers. 
These  were  like  two  curiously  outlined,  hollowed 
leaves,  serrated  with  some  forty  prongs;  and  their 
tips,  at  the  point  of  widest  expansion,  were  little 
less  than  six  feet  apart.  His  eyes,  though  small 
for  the  rough-hewn  bulk  of  his  head,  were  keen,  and 
ardent  with  passion  and  high  courage.  His  ears, 
large  and  coarse  for  one  of  the  deer  tribe  to  possess, 
were  set  very  low  on  his  skull  —  to  such  a  degree, 
indeed,  as  to  give  somehow  a  daunting  touch  of 
the  monstrous  to  his  massive  dignity.  His  neck 
was  short  and  immensely  powerful,  to  support  the 
gigantic  head  and  antlers.  From  his  throat  hung  a 
strange,  ragged,  long-haired  tuft,  called  by  woods- 
men the  "bell."  His  chest  was  of  great  depth,  telling 
of  exhaustless  lung  power;  and  his  long  forelegs 
upbore  his  mighty  fore-shoulders  so  that  their  gaunt 
ridge  was  nearly  seven  feet  from  the  ground.  From 
this  height  his  short  back  fell  away  on  a  slope  to 
hindquarters  disproportionately  scant,  so  that  had 
his  appearance  been  altogether  less  imposing  and 


i84          tTbe  frtn&refc  of  tbe 

formidable,  he  might  have  looked  grotesque  from 
some  points  of  view.  In  the  moonlight,  of  course, 
his  colour  was  just  a  cold  gray;  but  in  the  daytime 
it  would  have  shown  a  rusty  brown,  paling  and 
yellowing  slightly  on  the  under  parts  and  inside 
the  legs. 

Having  sniffed  the  air  for  several  minutes  with- 
out discerning  anything  to  interest  him,  the  great 
bull  bethought  him  of  his  evening  meal.  With 
a  sudden  blowing  out  of  his  breath,  he  heaved  his 
bulk  about  and  made  for  the  waterside,  crashing 
down  the  bushes  and  making,  in  sheer  wantonness, 
a  noise  that  seemed  out  of  keeping  with  the  time 
and  place.  Several  times  he  paused  to  thrash 
amid  the  undergrowth  with  his  antlers.  Reaching 
the  water,  he  plunged  in,  thigh-deep,  with  great 
splashings,  and  sent  the  startled  waves  chasing  each 
other  in  bright  curves  to  the  farther  shore.  There 
he  stood  and  began  pulling  recklessly  at  the  leaves 
and  shoots  of  the  water-lilies.  He  was  hungry, 
indeed,  yet  his  mind  was  little  engrossed  with  his 
feeding. 

As  a  rule,  the  moose,  for  all  his  bulk  and  seeming 
clumsiness,  moves  through  the  forest  as  soundlessly 
as  a  weasel.  He  plants  his  wide  hoofs  like  thistle- 
down, insinuates  his  spread  of  antlers  through  the 


H  treason  of  IRature  185 

tangle  like  a  snake,  and  befools  his  enemies  with 
the  nicest  craft  of  the  wilderness. 

But  this  was  the  rutting  season.  The  great  bull 
was  looking  for  his  mate.  He  had  a  wild  sus- 
picion that  the  rest  of  the  world  was  conspiring  to 
keep  him  from  her,  and  therefore  he  felt  a  fierce 
indignation  against  the  rest  of  the  world.  He  was 
ready  to  imagine  a  rival  behind  every  bush.  He 
wanted  to  find  these  rivals  and  fight  them  to  the 
death.  His  blood  was  in  an  insurrection  of  mad- 
ness, and  suspense,  and  sweetness,  and  desire.  He 
cared  no  more  for  craft,  for  concealment.  He 
wanted  all  the  forest  to  know  just  where  he  was 
—  that  his  mate  might  come  to  be  loved,  that  his 
rivals  might  come  to  be  ground  beneath  his  antlers 
and  his  hoofs.  Therefore  he  went  wildly,  making 
all  the  noise  he  could;  while  the  rest  of  the  forest 
folk,  unseen  and  withdrawn,  looked  on  with  dis- 
approval and  with  expectation  of  the  worst. 

As  he  stood  in  the  cool  water,  pulling  and  munch- 
ing the  lilies,  there  came  a  sound  that  stiffened  him 
to  instant  movelessness.  Up  went  his  head,  the 
streams  trickling  from  it  silverly;  and  he  listened 
with  every  nerve  of  his  body.  It  was  a  deeply 
sonorous,  booming  call,  with  a  harsh  catch  in  it, 
but  softened  to  music  by  the  distance.  It  came 


186          Tibe  IRtnfcrefc  ot  tbe 

from  some  miles  down  the  opposite  shore  of  the 
lake.  To  the  great  bull's  ears  it  was  the  sweetest 
music  he  could  dream  of  —  the  only  music,  in  fact, 
that  interested  him.  It  was  the  voice  of  his  mate, 
calling  him  to  the  trysting-place. 

He  gave  answer  at  once  to  the  summons,  con- 
tracting his  flanks  violently  as  he  propelled  the 
sound  from  his  deep  lungs.  To  one  listening  far 
down  the  lake  the  call  would  have  sounded  beauti- 
ful in  its  way,  though  lugubrious  —  a  wild,  vast, 
incomprehensible  voice,  appropriate  to  the  solitude. 
But  to  a  near-by  listener  it  must  have  sounded  both 
monstrous  and  absurd  —  like  nothing  else  so  much 
as  the  effort  of  a  young  farmyard  bull  to  mimic 
the  braying  of  an  ass.  Nevertheless,  to  one  who 
could  hear  aright,  it  was  a  noble  and  splendid  call, 
vital  with  all  sincerity  of  response  and  love  and 
elemental  passion. 

Having  sent  forth  his  reply,  he  waited  for  no 
more.  He  was  consumed  with  fierce  anxiety  lest 
some  rival  should  also  hear  and  answer  the  invi- 
tation. Dashing  forward  into  the  deep  water,  he 
swam  at  great  speed  straight  across  the  cove,  leav- 
ing a  wide  wake  behind  him.  The  summons  came 
again,  but  he  could  not  reply  while  he  was  swim- 
ming. As  soon  as  he  reached  land  he  answered,  and 


"HE  GAVE  ANSWER  AT  ONCE  TO  THE  SUMMONS.' 


JN1VER31TY 


H  treason  ot  mature  189 

then  started  in  mad  haste  down  the  shore,  taking 
advantage  of  the  open  beach  where  there  was  any, 
but  for  the  most  part  hidden  in  the  trees,  where 
his  progress  was  loudly  marked  by  the  crashing 
and  trampling  of  his  impatience. 

All  the  furtive  kindred,  great  as  well  as  small, 
bold  as  well  as  timorous,  gave  him  wide  berth.  A 
huge  black  bear,  pleasantly  engaged  in  ripping 
open  an  ant  stump  right  in  his  path,  stepped  aside 
into  the  gloom  with  a  supercilious  deferring. 
Farther  down  the  lake  a  panther  lay  out  along  a 
maple  limb,  and  watched  the  ecstatic  moose  rush 
by  beneath.  He  dug  his  claws  deeper  into  the 
bark,  and  bared  his  fangs  thirstily;  but  he  had  no 
wish  to  attempt  the  perilous  enterprise  of  stopping 
the  moose  on  his  love  errand.  From  time  to  time, 
from  that  same  enchanted  spot  down  the  lake,  came 
the  summons,  growing  reassuringly  nearer;  and 
from  time  to  time  the  journeying  bull  would  pause 
in  his  stride  to  give  answer.  Little  flecks  of  foam 
blew  from  his  nostrils,  and  his  flanks  were  heaving, 
but  his  heart  was  joyous,  and  his  eyes  bright  with 
anticipation. 

Meanwhile,  what  was  it  that  awaited  him,  in 
that  enchanted  spot  by  the  waterside  under  the  full 
moon,  on  which  the  eyes  of  his  eager  imagination 


190          Ube  Ikinbrefc  of  tbe 

were  fixed  so  passionately  as  he  crashed  his  wild 
way  through  the  night?  There  was  the  little  open 
of  firm  gravelly  beach,  such  as  all  his  tribe  affected 
as  their  favoured  place  of  trysting.  But  no  brown 
young  cow  cast  her  shadow  on  the  white  gravel, 
standing  with  forefeet  wide  apart  and  neck  out- 
stretched to  utter  her  desirous  call.  The  beach  lay 
bright  and  empty.  Just  back  of  it  stood  a  spreading 
maple,  its  trunk  veiled  in  a  thicket  of  viburnum 
and  withe-wood.  Back  of  this  again  a  breadth  of 
lighted  open,  carrying  no  growth  but  low  kalmia 
scrub.  It  was  a  highly  satisfactory  spot  for  the 
hunter  who  follows  his  sport  in  the  calling  season. 
There  was  no  brown  young  cow  anywhere  within 
hearing;  but  in  the  covert  of  the  viburnum,  under 
the  densest  shadow  of  the  maple,  crouched  two 
hunters,  their  eyes  peering  through  the  leafage  with 
the  keen  glitter  of  those  of  a  beast  of  prey  in 
ambush.  One  of  these  hunters  was  a  mere  boy,  clad 
in  blue-gray  homespuns,  lank  and  sprawling  of 
limb,  the  whitish  down  just  beginning  to  acquire 
texture  and  definiteness  on  his  ruddy  but  hawk- 
like face.  He  was  on  his  first  moose-hunt,  eager 
for  a  trophy,  and  ambitious  to  learn  moose-calling. 
The  other  was  a  raw-boned  and  grizzled  woodsman, 
still-eyed,  swarthy-faced,  and  affecting  the  Indian 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


CF 


H  treason  of  mature  193 

fashion  of  a  buckskin  jacket.  He  was  a  hunter 
whose  fame  went  wide  in  the  settlement.  He 
could  master  and  slay  the  cunning  kindred  of  the 
wild  by  a  craft  finer  than  their  own.  He  knew 
all  their  weaknesses,  and  played  upon  them  to  their 
destruction  as  he  would.  In  one  hairy  hand  he 
held  a  long,  trumpet-like  roll  of  birch-bark.  This 
he  would  set  to  his  lips  at  intervals,  and  utter 
through  it  his  deadly  perfect  mimicry  of  the  call 
of  the  cow-moose  in  rutting  season.  Each  time 
he  did  so,  there  came  straightway  in  response  the 
ever-nearing  bellow  of  the  great  bull  hurrying 
exultantly  to  the  tryst.  Each  time  he  did  so,  too, 
the  boy  crouching  beside  him  turned  upon  him 
a  look  of  marvelling  awe,  the  look  of  the  rapt 
neophyte.  This  tribute  the  old  woodsman  took 
as  his  bare  due,  and  paid  it  no  attention  whatever. 

While  yet  the  approaching  bull  was  apparently 
so  far  off  that  even  eyes  so  keen  as  his  had  no 
chance  of  discovering  the  ambush,  the  younger 
hunter,  unused  to  so  long  a  stillness,  got  up  to 
stretch  his  cramped  legs.  As  he  stood  forth  into 
the  moonlight,  a  loon  far  out  in  the  silver  sheen 
of  the  lake  descried  him,  and  at  once  broke  into  a 
peal  of  his  startling  and  demoniacal  laughter. 

"  Git  down !  "  ordered  the  old  woodsman,  curtly. 


194          Ufoe  Ikfnfcrefc  of  tbe  TKHfifc 

"That  bird  tells  all  it  sees!"  And  immediately 
setting  the  birchen  trumpet  to  his  lips,  he  sounded 
the  most  seductive  call  he  knew.  It  was  answered 
promptly,  and  this  time  from  so  near  at  hand  that 
the  nerves  of  both  hunters  were  strung  to  instant 
tension.  They  both  effaced  themselves  to  a  still- 
ness and  invisibility  not  excelled  by  that  of  the 
most  secret  of  the  furtive  folk.  In  this  stillness 
the  boy,  who  was  himself,  by  nature  and  affinity, 
of  the  woodland  kin,  caught  for  the  first  time  that 
subtle,  rhythmic  hr-r-r-r-r-ing  of  the  forest  pulse; 
but  he  took  it  for  merely  the  rushing  of  the  blood 
in  his  too  attentive  ears. 

Presently  this  sound  was  forgotten.  He  heard 
a  great  portentous  crashing  in  the  underbrush. 
Nearer,  nearer  it  came;  and  both  men  drew  them- 
selves together,  as  if  to  meet  a  shock.  Their 
eyes  met  for  one  instant,  and  the  look  spoke  aston- 
ished realisation  of  the  giant  approaching  bulk. 
Then  the  old  hunter  called  once  more.  The  an- 
swer, resonant  and  vast,  but  almost  shrill  with  the 
ecstasy  of  passion,  blared  forth  from  a  dense  fir 
thicket  immediately  beyond  the  moonlit  open.  The 
mighty  crashing  came  up,  as  it  seemed,  to  the 
very  edge  of  the  glade,  and  there  stopped  abruptly. 
No  towering  flight  of  antlers  emerged  into  the 
light. 


H  treason  ot  IRature  195 

The  boy's  rifle  —  for  it  was  his  shot  —  was  at 
his  shoulder;  but  he  lowered  it,  and  anxiously  his 
eyes  sought  the  face  of  his  companion.  The  latter, 
with  lips  that  made  no  sound,  shaped  the  words, 
"  He  suspects  something."  Then,  once  more  lift- 
ing the  treacherous  tube  of  birch-bark  to  his  mouth, 
he  murmured  through  it  a  rough  but  strangely 
tender  note.  It  was  not  utterly  unlike  that  with 
which  a  cow  sometimes  speaks  to  her  calf  just  after 
giving  birth  to  it,  but  more  nasal  and  vibrant; 
and  it  was  full  of  caressing  expectancy,  and  desire, 
and  question,  and  half-reproach.  All  the  yearning 
of  all  the  mating  ardour  that  has  triumphed  over 
insatiable  death,  and  kept  the  wilderness  peopled 
from  the  first,  was  in  that  deceitful  voice.  As 
he  ceased  the  call  he  raised  himself  stealthily  behind 
the  thick  trunk  of  the  maple,  lifted  a  wooden 
bucket  of  water  to  the  height  of  his  shoulder,  and 
poured  out  a  stream,  which  fell  with  noisy  splashing 
on  the  gravel. 

The  eager  moose  could  not  resist  the  appeal. 
His  vague  suspicions  fled.  He  burst  forth  into  the 
open,  his  eyes  full  and  bright,  his  giant  head 
proudly  uplifted. 

The  boy's  large-calibre  rifle  spoke  at  that  instant, 
with  a  bitter,  clapping  report,  and  a  shoot  of  red 


196          Ube  1kfnt>ret>  of  tbe  Wtib 

flame  through  the  viburnum  screen.  The  tall 
moose  neither  saw  nor  heard  it.  The  leaden  death 
had  crashed  through  his  brain  even  before  his 
quick  sense  had  time  to  note  the  menace.  Swerving 
a  little  at  the  shock,  the  huge  body  sank  forward 
upon  the  knees  and  muzzle,  then  rolled  over  upon 
its  side.  There  he  lay  unstirring,  betrayed  by 
nature  in  the  hour  of  his  anticipation. 

With  a  sudden  outburst  of  voices,  the  two 
hunters  sprang  up,  broke  from  their  ambush,  and 
ran  to  view  the  prize.  They  were  no  longer  of  the 
secretive  kindred  of  the  wilderness,  but  pleased 
children.  The  old  woodsman  eyed  shrewdly  the 
inimitable  spread  of  the  prostrate  antlers.  As  for 
the  boy,  he  stared  at  his  victim,  breathless,  his  eyes 
a-glitter  with  the  fierce  elemental  pride  of  the  hunter 
triumphant. 


ftbe  Haunter  of  tbe  pine  (Bloom 

OR  3.  moment  the  Boy  felt  afraid  — 
afraid  in  his  own  woods.  He  felt  that 
he  was  being  followed,  that  there  were 
hostile  eyes  burning  into  the  back  of  his  jacket. 
The  sensation  was  novel  to  him,  as  well  as  unpleas- 
ant, and  he  resented  it.  He  knew  it  was  all  non- 
sense. There  was  nothing  in  these  woods  bigger 
than  a  weasel,  he  was  sure  of  that.  Angry  at  him- 
self, he  would  not  look  round,  but  swung  along  care- 
lessly through  the  thicket,  being  in  haste  because 
it  was  already  late  and  the  cows  should  have  been 
home  and  milked  before  sundown.  Suddenly, 
however,  he  remembered  that  it  was  going  flat 
against  all  woodcraft  to  disregard  a  warning.  And 
was  he  not,  indeed,  deliberately  seeking  to  culti- 
vate and  sharpen  his  instincts,  in  the  effort  to  get 
closer  to  the  wild  woods  folk  and  know  them  in  their 
furtive  lives?  Moreover,  he  was  certainly  getting 
more  and  more  afraid!  He  stopped,  and  peered 

into  the  pine  glooms  which  surrounded  him. 

199 


200          tlbe  Ikin&reb  of  tbe 

Standing  motionless  as  a  stump,  and  breathing 
with  perfect  soundlessness,  he  strained  his  ears  to 
help  his  eyes  in  their  questioning  of  this  obscure 
menace.  He  could  see  nothing.  He  could  hear 
nothing.  Yet  he  knew  his  eyes  and  ears  were  cun- 
ning to  pierce  all  the  wilderness  disguises.  But 
stay  —  was  that  a  deeper  shadow,  merely,  far 
among  the  pine  trunks  ?  And  —  did  it  move  ?  He 
stole  forward;  but  even  as  he  did  so,  whatever  of 
unusual  he  saw  or  fancied  in  the  object  upon  which 
his  eyes  were  fixed,  melted  away.  It  became  but 
a  shadow  among  other  shadows,  and  motionless  as 
they  —  all  motionless  in  the  calm  of  the  tranquil 
sunset.  He  ran  forward  now,  impatient  to  satisfy 
himself  beyond  suspicion.  Yes  —  of  course  —  it 
was  just  this  gray  spruce  stump !  He  turned  away, 
a  little  puzzled  and  annoyed  in  spite  of  himself. 
Thrashing  noisily  hither  and  thither  through  the 
underbrush,  —  quite  contrary  to  his  wonted  quie- 
tude while  in  the  domains  of  the  wood  folk,  —  and 
calling  loudly  in  his  clear  young  voice,  "  Co-petty ! 
Co-petty !  Co-petty !  Co-o-o-petty !  "  over  and  over, 
he  at  length  found  the  wilful  young  cow  which  had 
been  eluding  him.  Then  he  drove  the  herd  slowly 
homeward,  with  mellow  tink-a-tonk,  tank-tonk  of 
the  cow-bells,  to  the  farmyard  and  the  milking. 


ttbe  atauntet  of  tbe  flMtte  Gloom     20* 

Several  evenings  later,  when  his  search  for  the 
wilful  young  cow  chanced  to  lead  him  again  through 
the  corner  of  this  second  growth  pine  wood,  the 
Boy  had  a  repetition  of  the  disturbing  experience. 
This  time  his  response  was  instant  and  aggressive. 
As  soon  as  he  felt  that  sensation  of  unfriendly  eyes 
pursuing  him,  he  turned,  swept  the  shadows  with 
his  piercing  scrutiny,  plunged  into  the  thickets  with 
a  rush,  then  stopped  short  as  if  frozen,  almost  hold- 
ing his  breath  in  the  tensity  of  his  stillness.  By  this 
procedure  he  hoped  to  catch  the  unknown  haunter 
of  the  glooms  under  the  disadvantage  of  motion. 
But  again  he  was  baffled.  Neither  eye  nor  ear  re- 
vealed him  anything.  He  went  home  troubled  and 
wondering. 

Some  evenings  afterward  the  same  thing  hap- 
pened at  another  corner  of  the  pasture;  and  again 
one  morning  when  he  was  fishing  in  the  brook  a 
mile  back  into  the  woods,  where  it  ran  through  a 
tangled  growth  of  birch  and  fir.  He  began  to  feel 
that  he  was  either  the  object  of  a  malicious  scrutiny, 
or  that  he  was  going  back  to  those  baby  days  when 
he  used  to  be  afraid  of  the  dark.  Being  just  at 
the  age  of  ripe  boyhood  when  childishness  in  him- 
self would  seem  least  endurable,  the  latter  supposi- 
tion was  not  to  be  considered.  He  therefore  set 


202          ttbe  Ifcin&reb  of  tbe 

himself  to  investigate  the  mystery,  and  to  pit  his 
woodcraft  against  the  evasiveness  of  this  troubler 
of  his  peace. 

The  Boy's  confidence  in  his  woodcraft  was  well 
founded.  His  natural  aptitude  for  the  study  of 
the  wild  kindred  had  been  cultivated  to  the  utmost 
of  his  opportunity,  in  all  the  time  that  could  be 
stolen  from  his  lesson-hours  and  from  his  unexacting 
duties  about  his  father's  place.  Impatient  and 
boyish  in  other  matters,  he  had  trained  himself  to 
the  patience  of  an  Indian  in  regard  to  all  matters 
appertaining  to  the  wood  folk.  He  had  a  pet  theory 
that  the  human  animal  was  more  competent,  as  a 
mere  animal,  than  it  gets  the  credit  of  being;  and 
it  was  his  particular  pride  to  outdo  the  wild  crea- 
tures at  their  own  games.  He  could  hide,  unstirring 
as  a  hidden  grouse.  He  could  run  down  a  deer  by 
sheer  endurance  —  only  to  spare  it  at  the  last  and 
let  it  go,  observed  and  mastered,  but  unhurt. 
And  he  could  see,  as  few  indeed  among  the  wild 
things  could.  This  was  his  peculiar  triumph.  His 
eyes  could  discriminate  where  theirs  could  not. 
Perfect  movelessness  was  apt  to  deceive  the  keenest 
of  them ;  but  his  sight  was  not  to  be  so  foiled.  He 
could  differentiate  gradually  the  shape  of  the 
brown  hare  crouching  motionless  on  its  brown 


THE   BIG   BEAST    LITTLE    IMAGINED    HIMSELF    OBSERVED.' 


v» 

OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 


Ube  JHaunter  of  tbe  pine  Gloom     205 

form;  and  separate  the  yellow  weasel  from  the  tuft 
of  yellow  weeds;  and  distinguish  the  slumbering 
night-hawk  from  the  knot  on  the  hemlock  limb. 
He  could  hear,  too,  as  well  as  most  of  the  wild  kin- 
dred, and  better,  indeed,  than  some;  but  in  this 
he  had  to  acknowledge  himself  hopelessly  out- 
classed by  not  a  few.  He  knew  that  the  wood- 
mouse  and  the  hare,  for  instance,  would  simply 
make  a  mock  of  him  in  any  test  of  ears ;  and  as  for 
the  owl  —  well,  that  gifted  hearer  of  infinitesimal 
sounds  would  be  justified  in  calling  him  stone-deaf. 
The  Boy  was  a  good  shot,  but  very  seldom  was 
it  that  he  cared  to  display  his  skill  in  that  direction. 
It  was  his  ambition  to  "  name  all  the  birds  without 
a  gun."  He  would  know  the  wild  folk  living,  not 
dead.  From  the  feebler  of  the  wild  folk  he  wanted 
trust,  not  fear;  and  he  himself  had  no  fear,  on 
the  other  hand,  of  the  undisputed  Master  of  the 
Woods,  the  big  black  bear.  His  faith,  justified  by 
experience,  was  that  the  bear  had  sense,  knew  how 
to  mind  his  own  business,  and  was  ready  to  let 
other  people  mind  theirs.  He  knew  the  bear  well, 
from  patient,  secret  observation  when  the  big  beast 
little  imagined  himself  observed.  From  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  a  bull-moose  in  rutting  season  he 
would  have  taken  pains  to  absent  himself;  and 


206          tTbe  Ikinbreb  of  tbe  WtU> 

if  he  had  ever  come  across  any  trace  of  a  panther 
in  those  regions,  he  would  have  studied  that  un- 
certain beast  with  his  rifle  always  at  hand  in  case 
of  need.  For  the  rest,  he  felt  safe  in  the  woods, 
as  an  initiate  of  their  secrets,  and  it  was  unusual 
for  him  to  carry  in  his  wanderings  any  weapon 
but  a  stout  stick  and  the  sheath-knife  in  his  belt. 

Now,  however,  when  he  set  himself  to  discover 
what  it  was  that  haunted  his  footsteps  in  the  gloom, 
he  took  his  little  rifle  —  and  in  this  act  betrayed  to 
himself  more  uneasiness  than  he  had  been  willing 
to  acknowledge. 

This  especial  afternoon  he  got  the  hired  man 
to  look  after  the  cows  for  him,  and  betook  himself 
early,  about  two  hours  before  sundown,  to  the 
young  pine  wood  where  the  mystery  had  begun.  In 
the  heart  of  a  little  thicket,  where  he  was  partly 
concealed  and  where  the  gray-brown  of  his  clothes 
blended  with  the  stems  and  dead  branches,  he  seated 
himself  comfortably  with  his  back  against  a 
stump.  Experience  had  taught  him  that,  in  order 
to  hold  himself  long  in  one  position,  the  position 
chosen  must  be  an  easy  one.  Soon  his  muscles 
relaxed,  and  all  his  senses  rested,  watchful  but 
unstrained.  He  had  learned  that  tensity  was  a 
thing  to  be  held  in  reserve  until  occasion  should 
call  for  it. 


"  A  GREAT  LYNX  LANDED  ON  THE  LOG.' 


Haunter  of  tbe  HMne  (Bloom     209 

In  a  little  while  his  presence  was  ignored  or  for- 
gotten by  the  chipmunks,  the  chickadees,  the  white- 
throats,  and  other  unafraid  creatures.  Once  a  chip- 
munk, on  weighty  business  bent,  ran  over  his  legs 
rather  than  go  around  so  unoffending  an  obstacle. 
The  chickadees  played  antics  on  the  branches,  and 
the  air  was  beaded  sweetly  everywhere  with  their 
familiar  sic-a-dee,  dee-ee.  A  white-throat  in  the 
tree  right  over  his  head  whistled  his  mellow  dear, 
dear  ee  die  dee — ee  die  dee — ee  die  dee,  over  and  over. 
But  there  was  nothing  new  in  all  this :  and  at  length 
he  began  to  grow  conscious  of  his  position,  and 
desirous  of  changing  it  slightly. 

Before  he  had  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  this 
momentous  step  there  came  upon  his  ear  a  beating 
of  wings,  and  a  fine  cock  grouse  alighted  on  a  log 
some  forty  paces  distant.  He  stretched  himself, 
strutted,  spread  his  ruff  and  wings  and  tail,  and 
was  about  to  begin  drumming.  But  before  the  first 
sonorous  note  rolled  out  there  was  a  rustle  and  a 
pounce.  The  beautiful  bird  bounded  into  the  air 
as  if  hurled  from  a  spring;  and  a  great  lynx  landed 
on  the  log,  digging  his  claws  fiercely  into  the  spot 
where  the  grouse  had  stood.  As  the  bird  rocketed 
off  through  the  trees  the  lynx  glared  after  him,  and 
emitted  a  loud,  screeching  snarl  of  rage.  His  dis- 


210          Ube  fUnfcrefc  of  tbc  Wflfc 

appointment  was  so  obvious  and  childish  that  the 
Boy  almost  laughed  out. 

"  Lucifee,"  said  he  to  himself,  giving  it  the  name 
it  went  by  in  all  the  back  settlements.  "  That's  the 
fellow  that  has  been  haunting  me.  I  didn't  think 
there  were  any  lynxes  this  side  of  the  mountain. 
He  hasn't  seen  me,  that's  sure.  So  now  it's  my 
turn  to  haunt  him  a  bit." 

The  lucifee,  indeed,  had  for  the  moment  thrown 
off  all  concealment,  in  his  fury  at  the  grouse's  es- 
cape. His  stub  of  a  tail  twitched  and  his  pale 
bright  eyes  looked  around  for  something  on  which 
to  vent  his  feelings.  Suddenly,  however,  a  wander- 
ing puff  of  air  blew  the  scent  of  the  Boy  to  his 
nostrils.  On  the  instant,  like  the  soundless  melting 
of  a  shadow,  he  was  down  behind  the  log,  taking 
observations  through  the  veil  of  a  leafy  branch. 

Though  the  animal  was  looking  straight  toward 
him,  the  Boy  felt  sure  he  was  not  seen.  The  eyes, 
indeed,  were  but  following  the  nose.  The  lynx's 
nose  is  not  so  keen  and  accurate  in  its  information 
as  are  the  noses  of  most  of  the  other  wild  folk, 
and  the  animal  was  puzzled.  The  scent  was  very 
familiar  to  him,  for  had  he  not  been  investigating 
the  owner  of  it  for  over  a  week,  following  him  at 
every  opportunity  with  mingled  curiosity  and 


TTbe  IHaunter  ot  tbe  pine  Gloom     211 

hatred?  Now,  judging  by  the  scent,  the  object 
of  his  curiosity  was  close  at  hand  —  yet  incompre- 
hensibly invisible.  After  sniffing  and  peering  for 
some  minutes  he  came  out  from  behind  the  log  and 
crept  forward,  moving  like  a  shadow,  and  following 
up  the  scent.  From  bush  to  tree-trunk,  from  thicket 
to  stump,  he  glided  with  incredible  smoothness  and 
rapidity,  elusive  to  the  eye,  utterly  inaudible;  and 
behind  each  shelter  he  crouched  to  again  take 
observations.  The  Boy  thought  of  him,  now,  as 
a  sort  of  malevolent  ghost  in  fur,  and  no  longer 
wondered  that  he  had  failed  to  ,catch  a  glimpse  of 
him  before. 

The  lynx  (this  was  the  first  of  its  tribe  the  Boy 
had  ever  seen,  but  he  knew  the  kind  by  reputation) 
was  a  somewhat  doggish-looking  cat,  perhaps  four 
or  five  times  the  weight  of  an  ordinary  Tom,  and 
with  a  very  uncatlike  length  of  leg  in  proportion 
to  its  length  of  body.  Its  hindquarters  were  dis- 
proportionately high,  its  tail  ridiculously  short. 
Spiky  tufts  to  its  ears  and  a  peculiar  brushing  back 
of  the  fur  beneath  its  chin  gave  its  round  and  fierce- 
eyed  countenance  an  expression  at  once  savage  and 
grotesque.  Most  grotesque  of  all  were  the  huge, 
noiseless  pads  of  its  feet,  muffled  in  fur.  Its  colour 
was  a  tawny,  weather-beaten  gray-brown;  its  eyes 
pale,  round,  brilliant,  and  coldly  cruel. 


212  zrbe  ikfnfcrefc  of  tbe 

At  length  the  animal,  on  a  stronger  puff  of  air, 
located  the  scent  more  closely.  This  was  obvious 
from  a  sudden  stiffening  of  his  muscles.  His  eyes 
began  to  discern  a  peculiarity  in  the  pine  trunk 
some  twenty  paces  ahead.  Surely  that  was  no  ordi- 
nary pine  trunk,  that !  No,  indeed,  that  was  where 
the  scent  of  the  Boy  came  from  —  and  the  hair 
on  his  back  bristled  fiercely.  In  fact,  it  was  the 
Boy!  The  lucifee's  first  impulse,  on  the  discovery, 
was  to  shrink  off  like  a  mist,  and  leave  further 
investigation  to  a  more  favourable  opportunity. 
But  he  thought  better  of  it  because  the  Boy  was  so 
still.  Could  he  be  asleep  ?  Or,  perhaps,  dead  ?  At 
any  rate,  it  would  seem,  he  was  for  the  moment 
harmless.  Curiosity  overcoming  discretion,  and 
possibly  hatred  suggesting  a  chance  of  advanta- 
geous attack,  the  animal  lay  down,  his  paws  folded 
under  him,  contemplatively,  and  studied  with  round, 
fierce  eyes  the  passive  figure  beneath  the  tree. 

The  Boy;  meanwhile,  returned  the  stare  with  like 
interest,  but  through  narrowed  lids,  lest  his  eyes 
should  betray  him;  and  his  heart  beat  fast  with 
the  excitement  of  the  situation.  There  was  a  most 
thrilling  uncertainty,  indeed,  as  to  what  the  animal 
would  do  next.  He  was  glad  he  had  brought  his 
rifle. 


"  PRESENTLY  THE  LUCIFEE  AROSE  AND  BEGAN  CREEPING 
STEALTHILY  CLOSER." 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


ffiaunter  of  tbe  pine  Gloom     215 

Presently  the  lucifee  arose  and  began  creeping 
1  stealthily  closer,  at  the  same  time  swerving  off  to 
the  right  as  if  to  get  behind  the  tree.  Whether  his 
purpose  in  this  was  to  escape  unseen  or  to  attack 
from  the  rear,  the  Boy  could  not  decide;  but  what 
he  did  decide  was  that  the  game  was  becoming 
hazardous  and  should  be  brought  to  immediate 
close.  He  did  not  want  to  be  compelled  to  shoot 
the  beast  in  self-defence,  for,  this  being  the  first 
lynx  he  had  ever  seen,  he  wanted  to  study  him.  So, 
suddenly,  with  the  least  possible  movement  of  his 
features,  he  squeaked  like  a  wood-mouse,  then  quit- 
quit-zd  like  a  grouse,  then  gave  to  a  nicety  the 
sonorous  call  of  the  great  horned  owl. 

The  astonished  lynx  seemed  to  shrink  into  him- 
self, as  he  flattened  against  the  ground,  grown 
moveless  as  a  stone.  It  was  incredible,  appalling 
indeed,  that  these  familiar  and  well-understood 
voices  should  all  come  from  that  same  impassive 
figure.  He  crouched  unstirring  for  so  long  that 
at  last  the  shadows  began  to  deepen  perceptibly. 
The  Boy  remembered  that  he  had  heard,  some  time 
ago,  the  bells  of  the  returning  cows ;  and  he  realised 
that  it  might  not  be  well  to  give  his  adversary  the 
advantage  of  the  dark.  Nevertheless,  the  experi- 
ence was  one  of  absorbing  interest  and  he  hated 
to  close  it. 


Ifcinbrefc  of  tbe  WfU> 

At  length  the  lucifee  came  to  the  conclusion  that 
the  mystery  should  be  probed  more  fully.  Once 
more  he  rose  upon  his  padded,  soundless  paws,  and 
edged  around  stealthily  to  get  behind  the  tree.  This 
was  not  to  be  permitted.  The  Boy  burst  into  a  peal 
of  laughter  and  rose  slowly  to  his  feet.  On  the 
instant  the  lucifee  gave  a  bound,  like  a  great  rubber 
ball,  backward  into  a  thicket.  It  seemed  as  if  his 
big  feet  were  all  feathers,  and  as  if  every  tree 
trunk  bent  to  intervene  and  screen  his  going.  The 
Boy  rubbed  his  eyes,  bewildered  at  so  complete  and 
instantaneous  an  exit.  Grasping  his  rifle  in  readi- 
ness, he  hurried  forward,  searching  every  thicket, 
looking  behind  every  stump  and  trunk.  The 
haunter  of  the  gloom  had  disappeared. 

After  this,  however,  the  Boy  was  no  more  troub- 
led by  the  mysterious  pursuit.  The  lynx  had  evi- 
dently found  out  all  he  required  to  know  about  him. 
On  the  other  hand  the  Boy  was  balked  in  his  pur- 
pose of  finding  out  all  he  wanted  to  know  about 
the  lynx.  That  wary  animal  eluded  all  his  most 
patient  and  ingenious  lyings-in-wait,  until  the  Boy 
began  to  feel  that  his  woodcraft  was  being  turned 
to  a  derision.  Only  once  more  that  autumn  did 
he  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  shy  opponent,  and  then 
by  chance,  when  he  was  on  another  trail.  Hidden 


"  A    SILENT    GRAY    THUNDERBOLT   FELL    UPON    HIM.1 


llbe  Iftaunter  of  tbe  iptne  (Bloom     219 

at  the  top  of  a  thick-wooded  bank  he  was  watching 
a  mink  at  its  fishing  in  the  brook  below.  But  as 
it  turned  out,  the  dark  little  fisherman  had  another 
watcher  as  well.  The  pool  in  the  brook  was  full 
of  large  suckers.  The  mink  had  just  brought  one 
to  land  in  his  triangular  jaws  and  was  proceeding 
to  devour  it,  when  a  silent  gray  thunderbolt  fell 
upon  him.  There  was  a  squeak  and  a  snarl;  and 
the  long,  snaky  body  of  the  mink  lay  as  still  as 
that  of  the  fish  which  had  been  its  prey.  Crouching 
over  his  double  booty,  a  paw  on  each,  the  lynx 
glared  about  him  in  exultant  pride.  The  scent  of 
the  Boy,  high  on  the  bank  above,  did  not  come  to 
him.  The  fish,  as  the  more  highly  prized  tidbit, 
he  devoured  at  once.  Then,  after  licking  his  lips 
and  polishing  his  whiskers,  he  went  loping  off 
through  the  woods  with  the  limp  body  of  the  mink 
hanging  from  his  jaws,  to  eat  it  at  leisure  in  his  lair. 
The  Boy  made  up  his  mind  to  find  out  where  that 
lair  was  hidden.  But  his  searchings  were  all 
vain,  and  he  tried  to  console  himself  with  the 
theory  that  the  animal  was  wont  to  travel  great 
distances  in  his  hunting  —  a  theory  which  he  knew 
in  his  heart  to  be  contrary  to  the  customs  of  the 
cat-kindred. 

During  the  winter  he  was  continually  tantalised 


220          ube  l&infcrefc  of  tbe  TKHU& 

by  coming  across  the  luci  fee's  tracks  —  great  foot- 
prints, big  enough  to  do  for  the  trail-signature  of 
the  panther  himself.  If  he  followed  these  tracks 
far  he  was  sure  to  find  interesting  records  of  wilder- 
ness adventure  —  here  a  spot  where  the  lynx  had 
sprung  upon  a  grouse,  and  missed  it,  or  upon  a  hare, 
and  caught  it;  and  once  he  found  the  place  where 
the  big  furry  paws  had  dug  down  to  the  secret 
white  retreat  where  a  grouse  lay  sleeping  under  the 
snow.  But  by  and  by  the  tracks  would  cross  each 
other,  and  make  wide  circles,  or  end  in  a  tree  where 
there  was  no  lucifee  to  be  found.  And  the  Boy 
was  too  busy  at  home  to  give  the  time  which  he 
saw  it  would  require  to  unravel  the  maze  to  its 
end.  But  he  refused  to  consider  himself  defeated. 
He  merely  regarded  his  triumph  as  postponed. 

Early  in  the  spring  the  triumph  came  —  though 
not  just  the  triumph  he  had  expected.  Before  the 
snow  was  quite  gone,  and  when  the  sap  was  begin- 
ning to  flow  from  the  sugar  maples,  he  went  with 
the  hired  man  to  tap  a  grove  of  extra  fine  trees 
some  five  miles  east  from  the  settlement.  Among 
the  trees  they  had  a  sugar  camp;  and  when  not 
at  the  sugar-making,  the  Boy  explored  a  near-by 
burnt-land  ridge,  very  rocky  and  rich  in  coverts, 
where  he  had  often  thought  the  old  lynx,  his  adver- 


Ube  IHaunter  of  tbe  flMne  (Bloom     221 

sary,  might  have  made  his  lair.  Here,  the  second 
day  after  his  arrival,  he  came  upon  a  lucifee  track. 
But  it  was  not  the  track  with  which  he  was  familiar. 
It  was  smaller,  and  the  print  of  the  right  forefoot 
lacked  a  toe. 

The  Boy  grinned  happily  and  rubbed  his  mit- 
tened  hands.  "  Aha !  "  said  he  to  himself,  "  better 
and  better!  There  is  a  Mrs.  Lucifee.  Now  we'll 
see  where  she  hides  her  kittens." 

The  trail  was  an  easy  one  this  time,  for  no 
enemies  had  been  looked  for  in  that  desert  neigh- 
bourhood. He  followed  it  for  about  half  a  mile, 
and  then  caught  sight  of  a  hollow  under  an  over- 
hanging rock,  to  which  the  tracks  seemed  to  lead. 
Working  around  to  get  the  wind  in  his  face,  he 
stole  cautiously  nearer,  till  he  saw  that  the  hollow 
was  indeed  the  entrance  to  a  cave,  and  that  the 
tracks  led  directly  into  it.  He  had  no  desire  to 
investigate  further,  with  the  risk  of  finding  the 
lucifee  at  home ;  and  it  was  getting  too  late  for  him 
to  undertake  his  usual  watching  tactics.  He  with- 
drew stealthily  and  returned  to  the  camp  in 
exultation. 

In  the  night  a  thaw  set  in,  so  the  Boy  was  spared 
the  necessity  of  waiting  for  the  noon  sun  to  soften 
the  snow  and  make  the  walking  noiseless.  He  set 


lkint>re&  of  tbe 

out  on  the  very  edge  of  sunrise,  and  reached  his 
hiding-place  while  the  mouth  of  the  cave  was  still 
in  shadow.  On  the  usual  crisp  mornings  of  sugar 
season  the  snow  at  such  an  hour  would  have  borne 
a  crust,  to  crackle  sharply  under  every  footstep 
and  proclaim  an  intruding  presence  to  all  the  wood 
folk  for  a  quarter  of  a  mile  about. 

After  waiting  for  a  good  half-hour,  his  eyes 
glued  to  a  small  black  opening  under  the  rock,  his 
heart  gave  a  leap  of  strong,  joyous  excitement.  He 
saw  the  lucifee's  head  appear  in  the  doorway.  She 
peered  about  her  cautiously,  little  dreaming,  how- 
ever, that  there  was  any  cause  for  caution.  Then 
she  came  forth  into  the  blue  morning  light,  yawned 
hugely,  and  stretched  herself  like  a  cat.  She  was 
smaller  than  the  Boy's  old  adversary,  somewhat 
browner  in  hue,  leaner,  and  of  a  peculiarly  malig- 
nant expression.  The  Boy  had  an  instant  intuition 
that  she  would  be  the  more  dangerous  antagonist 
of  the  two;  and  a  feeling  of  sharp  hostility  toward 
her,  such  as  he  had  never  felt  toward  her  mate, 
arose  in  his  heart. 

When  she  had  stretched  to  her  satisfaction,  and 
washed  her  face  perfunctorily  with  two  or  three 
sweeps  of  her  big  paw,  she  went  back  into  the  cave. 
In  two  or  three  minutes  she  reappeared,  and  this 


"  YAWNED    HUGELY,    AND    STRETCHED    HERSELF    LIKE    A    CAT." 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Ube  Haunter  of  tbe  BMne  <3Ioom     225 

time  with  a  brisk  air  of  purpose.  She  turned  to 
the  right,  along  a  well-worn  trail,  ran  up  a  tree 
to  take  a  survey  of  the  country,  descended  hastily, 
and  glided  away  among  the  thickets. 

"  It's  breakfast  she's  after,"  said  the  Boy  to  him- 
self, "  and  she'll  take  some  time  to  find  it." 

When  she  had  been  some  ten  minutes  gone,  the 
Boy  went  boldly  down  to  the  cave.  He  had  no 
fear  of  encountering  the  male,  because  he  knew 
from  an  old  hunter  who  had  taught  him  his  first 
wood-lore  that  the  male  lucifee  is  not  popular  with 
his  mate  at  whelping  time,  having  a  truly  Saturnian 
fashion  of  devouring  his  own  offspring.  But  there 
was  the  possibility,  remote,  indeed,  but  disquieting, 
of  the  mother  turning  back  to  see  to  some  neglected 
duty;  and  with  this  chance  in  view  he  held  his 
rifle  ready. 

Inside  the  cave  he  stood  still  and  waited  for  his 
eyes  to  get  used  to  the  gloom.  Then  he  discovered, 
in  one  corner,  on  a  nest  of  fur  and  dry  grass,  a 
litter  of  five  lucifee  whelps.  They  were  evidently 
very  young,  little  larger  than  ordinary  kittens,  and 
too  young  to  know  fear,  but  their  eyes  were  wide 
open,  and  they  stood  up  on  strong  legs  when  he 
touched  them  softly  with  his  palm.  Disappointed 
in  their  expectation  of  being  nursed,  they  mewed, 


226          Ube  Ikfufcrefc  ot  tbe 

and  there  was  something  in  their  cries  that  sounded 
strangely  wild  and  fierce.  To  the  Boy's  great  sur- 
prise, they  were  quite  different  in  colour  from  their 
gray-brown,  unmarked  parents,  being  striped 
vividly  and  profusely,  like  a  tabby  or  tiger.  The 
Boy  was  delighted  with  them,  and  made  up  his 
mind  that  when  they  were  a  few  days  older  he 
would  take  two  of  them  home  with  him  to  be 
brought  up  in  the  ways  of  civilisation. 

Three  days  later  he  again  visited  the  den,  this 
time  with  a  basket  in  which  to  carry  away  his 
prizes.  After  waiting  an  hour  to  see  if  the  mother 
were  anywhere  about,  he  grew  impatient.  Stealing 
as  close  to  the  cave's  mouth  as  the  covert  would 
permit,  he  squeaked  like  a  wood-mouse  several 
times.  This  seductive  sound  bringing  no  response, 
he  concluded  that  the  old  lucifee  must  be  absent. 
He  went  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave  and  peered 
in,  holding  his  rifle  in  front  of  his  face  in  readiness 
for  an  instant  shot.  When  his  eyes  got  command 
of  the  dusk,  he  saw  to  his  surprise  that  the  den  was 
empty.  He  entered  and  felt  the  vacant  nest.  It 
was  quite  cold,  and  had  a  deserted  air.  Then  he 
realised  what  had  happened,  and  cursed  his  clumsi- 
ness. The  old  lucifee,  when  she  came  back  to  her 
den,  had  learned  by  means  of  her  nose  that  her 


tlbe  ataunter  of  tbe  pine  (Bloom     227 

enemy  had  discovered  her  hiding-place  and  touched 
her  young  with  his  defiling  human  hands,  there- 
upon in  wrath  she  had  carried  them  away  to  some 
remote  and  unviolated  lair.  Till  they  were  grown 
to  nearly  the  full  stature  of  lucifee  destructiveness, 
the  Boy  saw  no  more  of  his  wonderful  lucifee 
kittens. 

Toward  the  latter  part  of  the  summer,  however, 
he  began  to  think  that  perhaps  he  had  made  a  mis- 
take in  leaving  these  fierce  beasts  to  multiply.  He 
no  longer  succeeded  in  catching  sight  of  them  as 
they  went  about  their  furtive  business,  for  they  had 
somehow  become  aware  of  his  woodcraft  and  dis- 
trustful of  their  own  shifts.  But  on  all  sides  he 
found  trace  of  their  depredations  among  the  weaker 
creatures.  He  observed  that  the  rabbits  were 
growing  scarce  about  the  settlement;  and  even  the 
grouse  were  less  numerous  in  the  upland  thickets 
of  young  birch.  As  all  the  harmless  wood  folk 
were  his  friends,  he  began  to  feel  that  he  had  been 
false  to  them  in  sparing  their  enemies.  Thereupon, 
he  took  to  carrying  his  rifle  whenever  he  went 
exploring.  He  had  not  really  declared  war  upon 
the  haunters  of  the  glooms,  but  his  relations  with 
them  were  becoming  distinctly  strained. 

At  length  the  rupture  came;   and  it  was  violent. 


228          <Tbe  Ikfufcrefc  ot  tbe  Wilfc 

In  one  of  the  upland  pastures,  far  back  from  the 
settlement,  he  came  upon  the  torn  carcass  of  a 
half-grown  lamb.  He  knew  that  this  was  no  work 
of  a  bear,  for  the  berries  were  abundant  that  au- 
tumn, and  the  bear  prefers  berries  to  mutton. 
Moreover,  when  a  bear  kills  a  sheep  he  skins  it 
deftly  and  has  the  politeness  to  leave  the  pelt  rolled 
up  in  a  neat  bundle,  just  to  indicate  to  the  farmer 
that  he  has  been  robbed  by  a  gentleman.  But  this 
carcass  was  torn  and  mangled  most  untidily;  and 
the  Boy  divined  the  culprits. 

It  was  early  in  the  afternoon  when  he  made  his 
find,  and  he  concluded  that  the  lucifees  were  likely 
to  return  to  their  prey  before  evening.  He  hid 
himself,  therefore,  behind  a  log  thickly  fringed  with 
juniper,  not  twenty-five  paces  from  the  carcass ;  and 
waited,  rifle  in  hand. 

A  little  before  sunset  appeared  the  five  young 
lucifees,  now  nearly  full  grown.  They  fell  at  once 
to  tearing  at  the  carcass,  with  much  jealous  snarling 
and  fighting.  Soon  afterwards  came  the  mother, 
with  a  well-fed,  leisurely  air;  and  at  her  heels, 
the  big  male  of  the  Boy's  first  acquaintance.  It  was 
evident  that,  now  that  the  rabbits  were  getting 
scarce,  the  lucifees  were  hunting  in  packs,  a  custom 
very  unusual  with  these  unsocial  beasts  under  ordi- 


*'  MOUNTED    THE    CARCASS    WITH    AN    AIR    OF   LORDSHIP." 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Ube  Waunter  of  tbe  JMne  (Bloom     231 

nary  circumstances,  and  only  adopted  when  seek- 
ing big  game.  The  big  male  cuffed  the  cubs  aside 
without  ceremony,  mounted  the  carcass  with  an 
air  of  lordship,  glared  about  him,  and  suddenly, 
with  a  snarl  of  wrath,  fixed  his  eyes  upon  the  green 
branches  wherein  the  Boy  lay  concealed.  At  the 
same  time  the  female,  who  had  stopped  short,  snif- 
fing and  peering  suspiciously,  crouched  to  her  belly, 
and  began  to  crawl  very  softly  and  stealthily,  as 
a  cat  crawls  upon  an  unsuspecting  bird,  toward  the 
innocent-looking  juniper  thicket. 

The  Boy  realised  that  he  had  presumed  too  far 
upon  the  efficacy  of  stillness,  and  that  the  lynxes, 
at  this  close  range,  had  detected  him.  He  realised, 
too,  that  now,  jealous  in  the  possession  of  their 
prey,  they  had  somehow  laid  aside  their  wonted 
fear  of  him;  and  he  congratulated  himself  heartily 
that  his  little  rifle  was  a  repeater.  Softly  he  raised 
it  to  take  aim  at  the  nearest,  and  to  him  the  most 
dangerous  of  his  foes,  the  cruel-eyed  female;  but 
in  doing  so  he  stirred,  ever  so  little,  the  veiling 
fringe  of  juniper.  At  the  motion  the  big  male 
sprang  forward,  with  two  great  bounds,  and 
crouched  within  ten  yards  of  the  log.  His  stub  of 
a  tail  twitched  savagely.  He  was  plainly  nerving 
himself  to  the  attack. 


232          Ube  1kin&re&  of  tbe 

There  was  no  time  to  lose.  Taking  quick  but 
careful  aim,  the  Boy  fired.  The  bullet  found  its 
mark  between  the  brute's  eyes,  and  he  straightened 
out  where  he  lay,  without  a  kick.  At  the  sound 
and  the  flash  Kthe  female  doubled  upon  herself  as 
quick  as  light ;  and  before  the  Boy  could  get  a  shot 
at  her  she  was  behind  a  stump  some  rods  away, 
shrinking  small,  and  fleeing  like  a  gray  shred  of 
vapour.  The  whelps,  too,  had  vanished  with  almost 
equal  skill  —  all  but  one.  He,  less  alert  and  intelli- 
gent than  his  fellows,  tried  concealment  behind  a 
clump  of  pink  fireweed.  But  the  Boy's  eyes  pierced 
the  screen ;  and  the  next  bullet,  cutting  the  fireweed 
stalks,  took  vengeance  for  many  slaughtered  hares 
and  grouse. 

After  this  the  Boy  saw  no  more  of  his  enemies 
for  some  months,  but  though  they  had  grown  still 
more  wary  their  experience  had  not  made  them 
less  audacious.  Before  the  snow  fell  they  had  killed 
another  sheep;  and  the  Boy  was  sure  that  they, 
rather  than  any  skunks  or  foxes,  were  to  blame  for 
the  disappearance  of  several  geese  from  his  flock. 
His  primeval  hunting  instincts  were  now  aroused, 
and  he  was  no  longer  merely  the  tender-hearted 
and  sympathetic  observer.  It  was  only  toward 
the  marauding  lucifees,  however,  that  his  feelings 


t£be  Jltaunter  of  tbe  BMne  doom     233 

had  changed.  The  rest  of  the  wild  folk  he  loved 
as  well  as  before,  but  for  the  time  he  was  too  busy 
to  think  of  them. 

When  the  snow  came,  and  footsteps  left  their  tell- 
tale records,  the  Boy  found  to  his  surprise  that  he 
had  but  one  lucifee  to  deal  with.  Every  lynx  track 
in  the  neighbourhood  had  a  toe  missing  on  the 
right  forefoot.  It  was  clear  that  the  whelps  of 
last  spring  had  shirked  the  contest  and  betaken 
themselves  to  other  and  safer  hunting-grounds; 
but  he  felt  that  between  himself  and  the  vindictive 
old  female  it  was  war  to  the  knife.  Her  tracks 
fairly  quartered  the  outlying  fields  all  about  his 
father's  farm,  and  were  even  to  be  found  now  and 
again  around  the  sheep-pen  and  the  fowl-house. 
Yet  never,  devise  he  ever  so  cunningly,  did  he  get 
a  glimpse  of  so  much  as  her  gray  stub  tail. 

At  last,  through  an  open  window,  she  invaded 
the  sheep-pen  by  night  and  killed  two  young  ewes. 
To  the  Boy  this  seemed  mere  wantonness  of  cruelty, 
and  he  set  his  mind  to  a  vengeance  which  he  had 
hitherto  been  unwilling  to  consider.  He  resolved 
to  trap  his  enemy,  since  he  could  not  shoot  her. 

Now,  as  a  mere  matter  of  woodcraft,  he  knew 
all  about  trapping  and  snaring;  but  ever  since  the 
day,  now  five  years  gone,  when  he  had  been  heart- 


234          trbe  Ikinbreb  of  tbe 

stricken  by  his  first  success  in  rabbit-snaring,  he  had 
hated  everything  like  a  snare  or  trap.  Now,  how- 
ever, in  the  interests  of  all  the  helpless  creatures 
of  the  neighbourhood,  wild  or  tame,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  snare  the  lucifee.  He  went  about  it  with 
his  utmost  skill,  in  a  fashion  taught  him  by  an 
old  Indian  trapper. 

Close  beside  one  of  his  foe's  remoter  runways, 
in  an  upland  field  where  the  hares  were  still  abun- 
dant, the  Boy  set  his  snare.  It  was  just  a  greatly 
exaggerated  rabbit  snare,  of  extra  heavy  wire  and 
a  cord  of  triple  strength.  But  instead  of  being 
attached  to  the  top  of  a  bent-down  sapling,  it  was 
fastened  to  a  billet  of  wood  about  four  feet  long 
and  nearly  two  inches  in  diameter.  This  sub- 
stantial stick  was  supported  on  two  forked  uprights 
driven  into  the  snow  beside  the  runway.  Then 
young  fir-bushes  were  stuck  about  it  carefully  in 
a  way  to  conceal  evidence  of  his  handiwork;  and 
an  artful  arrangement  of  twigs  disguised  the 
ambushed  loop  of  wire. 

Just  behind  the  loop  of  wire,  and  some  inches 
below  it,  the  Boy  arranged  his  bait.  This  consisted 
of  the  head  and  skin  of  a  hare,  stuffed  carefully 
with  straw,  and  posed  in  a  lifelike  attitude.  It 
seemed,  indeed,  to  be  comfortably  sleeping  on  the 


IHaunter  of  tfoe  pine  (Bloom     235 

snow,  under  the  branches  of  a  young  fir-tree;  and 
the  Boy  felt  confident  that  the  tempting  sight 
would  prevent  the  wily  old  lucifee  from  taking  any 
thought  to  the  surroundings  before  securing  the 
prize. 

Late  that  afternoon,  when  rose  and  gold  were 
in  the  sky,  and  the  snowy  open  spaces  were  of  a 
fainter  rose,  and  the  shadows  took  on  an  ashy 
purple  under  the  edges  of  the  pines  and  firs,  the 
old  lucifee  came  drifting  along  like  a  phantom. 
She  peered  hungrily  under  every  bush,  hoping  to 
catch  some  careless  hare  asleep.  On  a  sudden  a 
greenish  fire  flamed  into  her  wide  eyes.  She 
crouched,  and  moved  even  more  stealthily  than 
was  her  wont.  The  snow,  the  trees,  the  still,  sweet 
evening  light,  seemed  to  invest  her  with  silence. 
Very  soundly  it  slept,  that  doomed  hare,  crouching 
under  the  fir-bush!  And  now,  she  was  within 
reach  of  her  spring.  She  shot  forward,  straight 
and  strong  and  true. 

Her  great  paws  covered  the  prey,  indeed;  but 
at  the  same  instant  a  sharp,  firm  grip  clutched  her 
throat  with  a  jerk,  and  then  something  hit  her 
a  sharp  rap  over  the  shoulders.  With  a  wild  leap 
backward  and  aside  she  sought  to  evade  the  mys- 
terious attack.  But  the  noose  settled  firmly  behind 


236          Ube  Ifcin&refc  of  tbe  TKHtifc 

her  ears,  and  the  billet  of  wood,  with  a  nasty  tug 
at  her  throat,  leapt  after  her. 

So  this  paltry  thing  was  her  assailant !  She  flew 
into  a  wild  rage  at  the  stick,  tearing  at  it  with  her 
teeth  and  claws.  But  this  made  no  difference 
with  the  grip  about  her  throat,  so  she  backed  off 
again.  The  stick  followed  —  and  the  grip  tight- 
ened. Bracing  her  forepaws  upon  the  wood  she 
pulled  fiercely  to  free  herself;  and  the  wire  drew 
taut  till  her  throat  was  almost  closed.  Her  rage 
had  hastened  her  doom,  fixing  the  noose  where 
there  was  no  such  thing  as  clawing  it  off.  Then 
fear  took  the  place  of  rage  in  her  savage  heart. 
Her  lungs  seemed  bursting.  She  began  to  realise 
that  it  was  not  the  stick,  but  some  more  potent 
enemy  whom  she  must  circumvent  or  overcome. 
She  picked  up  the  billet  between  her  jaws,  climbed 
a  big  birch-tree  which  grew  close  by,  ran  out  upon 
a  limb  some  twenty  feet  from  the  ground,  and 
dropped  the  stick,  thinking  thus  to  rid  herself  of 
the  throttling  burden. 

The  shock,  as  the  billet  reached  the  end  of  its 
drop,  jerked  her  from  her  perch;  but  clutching 
frantically  she  gained  a  foothold  on  another  limb 
eight  or  ten  feet  lower  down.  There  she  clung, 
her  tongue  out,  her  eyes  filming,  her  breath  stopped, 


Maunter  ot  tbe  pine  Gloom     237 

strange  colours  of  flame  and  darkness  rioting  in 
her  brain.  Bracing  herself  with  all  her  remaining 
strength  against  the  pull  of  the  dangling  stick,  she 
got  one  paw  firmly  fixed  against  a  small  jutting 
branch.  Thus  it  happened  that  when,  a  minute 
later,  her  life  went  out  and  she  fell,  she  fell  on 
the  other  side  of  the  limb.  The  billet  of  wood 
flew  up,  caught  in  a  fork,  and  held  fast;  and  the 
limp,  tawny  body,  twitching  for  a  minute  convul- 
sively, hung  some  six  or  seven  feet  above  its  own 
tracks  in  the  snow. 

An  hour  or  two  later  the  moon  rose,  silvering  the 
open  spaces.  Then,  one  by  one  and  two  by  two, 
the  hares  came  leaping  down  the  aisles  of  pine 
and  fir.  Hither  and  thither  around  the  great  birch- 
tree  they  played,  every  now  and  then  stopping  to 
sit  up  and  thump  challenges  to  their  rivals.  And 
because  it  was  quite  still,  they  never  saw  the  body 
of  their  deadliest  foe,  hanging  stark  from  the  branch 
above  them. 


Watchers  of  tbe  Camp-fire 

'OR  five  years  the  big  panther,  who  ruled 
the  ragged  plateau  around  the  head 
waters  of  the  Upsalquitch,  had  been 
well  content  with  his  hunting-ground.  This  win- 
ter, however,  it  had  failed  him.  His  tawny  sides 
were  lank  with  hunger.  Rabbits  —  and  none  too 
many  of  them  —  were  but  thin  and  spiritless  meat 
for  such  fiery  blood  as  his.  His  mighty  and  rest- 
less muscles  consumed  too  swiftly  the  unsatisfy- 
ing food ;  and  he  was  compelled  to  hunt  continually, 
foregoing  the  long,  recuperative  sleeps  which  the 
tense  springs  of  his  organism  required.  Every 
fibre  in  his  body  was  hungering  for  a  full  meal 
of  red-blooded  meat,  the  sustaining  flesh  of  deer 
or  caribou.  The  deer,  of  course,  he  did  not  ex- 
pect on  these  high  plains  and  rough  hills  of  the 
Upsalquitch.  They  loved  the  well-wooded  ridges 
of  the  sheltered,  low-lying  lands.  But  the  caribou 
—  for  five  years  their  wandering  herds  had 

thronged  these  plains,  where  the  mosses  they  loved 

241 


242          Ube  Ikfufcrefc  ot  tbe 

grew  luxuriantly.  And  now,  without  warning  or 
excuse,  they  had  vanished. 

The  big  panther  knew  the  caribou.  He  knew 
that,  with  no  reason  other  than  their  own  caprice, 
the  restless  gray  herds  would  drift  away,  forsaking 
the  most  congenial  pastures,  journey  swiftly  and 
eagerly  league  upon  inconsequent  league,  and  at 
last  rest  seemingly  content  with  more  perilous 
ranges  and  scanter  forage,  in  a  region  remote  and 
new. 

He  was  an  old  beast,  ripe  in  the  craft  of  the 
hunt ;  and  the  caribou  had  done  just  what  he  knew 
in  his  heart  they  were  likely  to  do.  Nevertheless, 
because  the  head  waters  of  the  Upsalquitch  were 
much  to  his  liking,  —  the  best  hunting-ground, 
indeed,  that  he  had  ever  found,  —  he  had  hoped 
for  a  miracle;  he  had  grown  to  expect  that  these 
caribou  would  stay  where  they  were  well  off. 
Their  herds  had  thriven  and  increased  during  the 
five  years  of  his  guardianship.  He  had  killed  only 
for  his  needs,  never  for  the  lust  of  killing.  He 
had  kept  all  four- foot  poachers  far  from  his  pre- 
serves; and  no  hunters  cared  to  push  their  way 
to  the  inaccessible  Upsalquitch  while  game  was 
abundant  on  the  Tobique  and  the  Miramichi.  He 
knew  all  these  wilderness  waters  of  northern  New 


M 

g     (A 

- 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


TKHatcbers  of  tbe  Campsite     245 

Brunswick,  having  been  born  not  far  from  the 
sources  of  the  Nashwaak,  and  worked  his  way 
northward  as  soon  as  he  was  full-grown,  to  escape 
the  hated  neighbourhood  of  the  settlements.  He 
knew  that  his  vanished  caribou  would  find  no 
other  pastures  so  rich  and  safe  as  these  which  they 
had  left.  Nevertheless,  they  had  left  them.  And 
now,  after  a  month  of  rabbit  meat,  he  would  for- 
sake them,  too.  He  would  move  down  westward, 
and  either  come  upon  the  trail  of  his  lost  herds,  or 
push  over  nearer  to  the  St.  John  valley  and  find 
a  country  of  deer. 

The  big  panther  was  no  lover  of  long  journey- 
ings,  and  he  did  not  travel  with  the  air  of  one 
bent  on  going  far.  He  lingered  much  to  hunt 
rabbits  on  the  way;  and  wherever  he  found  a  lair 
to  his  liking  he  settled  himself  as  if  for  a  long 
sojourn.  Nevertheless  he  had  no  idea  of  halting 
until  he  should  reach  a  land  of  deer  or  caribou,  and 
his  steady  drift  to  westward  carried  him  far  in 
the  course  of  a  week.  The  snow,  though  deep, 
was  well  packed  by  a  succession  of  driving  winds, 
and  his  big,  spreading  paws  carried  him  over  its 
surface  as  if  he  had  been  shod  with  snow-shoes. 

By  the  end  of  a  week,  however,  the  continuous 
travelling  on  the  unsubstantial  diet  of  rabbit  meat 


246          Ube  IfcinSrefc  of  tbe 

had  begun  to  tell  upon  him.  He  was  hungry  and 
unsatisfied  all  the  time,  and  his  temper  became 
abominable.  Now  and  then  in  the  night  he  was 
fortunate  enough  to  surprise  a  red  squirrel  asleep 
in  its  nest,  or  a  grouse  rooting  in  its  thicket;  but 
these  were  mere  atoms  to  his  craving,  and  moreover 
their  flesh  belonged  to  the  same  pale  order  as  that  of 
his  despised  rabbits.  When  he  came  to  a  beaver 
village,  the  rounded  domes  of  the  houses  dotting 
the  snowy  level  of  their  pond,  a  faint  steam  of 
warmth  and  moisture  arising  from  their  ventilating 
holes  like  smoke,  he  sometimes  so  far  forgot  himself 
as  to  waste  a  few  minutes  in  futile  clawing  at  the 
roofs,  though  he  knew  well  enough  that  several  feet 
of  mud,  frozen  to  the  solidity  of  rock,  protected 
the  savoury  flat-tails  from  his  appetite. 

Once,  in  a  deep,  sheltered  river-valley,  where  a 
strong  rapid  and  a  narrow  deep  cascade,  kept  open 
a  black  pool  of  water  all  through  the  winter  frost, 
his  luck  and  his  wits  working  together  gained  him 
a  luncheon  of  fat  porcupine.  Tempted  from  its 
den  by  the  unwonted  warmth  of  noonday,  the 
porcupine  had  crawled  out  upon  a  limb  to  observe 
how  the  winter  was  passing,  and  to  sniff  for  signs 
of  spring  in  the  air.  At  the  sight  of  the  panther, 
who  had  climbed  the  tree  and  cut  off  its  retreat,  it 


tlbe  Matchers  of  tbe  Campsite    247 

bristled  its  black  and  white  quills,  whirled  about 
on  its  branch,  and  eyed  its  foe  with  more  anger 
than  terror,  confident  in  its  pointed  spines. 

The  panther  understood  and  respected  that  fine 
array  of  needle-points,  and  ordinarily  would  have 
gone  his  way  hungry  rather  than  risk  the  peril 
of  getting  his  paws  and  nose  stuck  full  of  those 
barbed  weapons.  But  just  now  his  cunning  was 
very  keenly  on  edge.  He  crawled  within  striking 
distance  of  the  porcupine,  and  reached  out  his 
great  paw,  gingerly  enough,  to  clutch  the  latter's 
unprotected  face.  Instantly  the  porcupine  rolled 
itself  into  a  bristling  ball  of  needle-points  and 
dropped  to  the  ground  below. 

The  panther  followed  at  a  single  bound;  but 
there  was  no  need  whatever  of  hurry.  The  porcu- 
pine lay  on  the  snow,  safely  coiled  up  within  its 
citadel  of  quills;  and  the  panther  lay  down  beside 
it,  waiting  for  it  to  unroll.  But  after  half  an  hour 
of  this  vain  waiting,  patience  gave  out  and  he 
began  experimenting.  Extending  his  claws  to  the 
utmost,  so  that  the  quill-points  should  not  come  in 
contact  with  the  fleshy  pads  of  his  foot,  he  softly 
turned  the  porcupine  over.  Now  it  chanced  that  the 
hard,  glassy  snow  whereon  it  lay  sloped  toward  the 
open  pool,  and  the  bristling  ball  moved  several  feet 


248          tTbe  *tnbteb  of  tbe 

down  the  slope.  The  panther's  pale  eyes  gleamed 
with  a  sudden  thought.  He  pushed  the  ball  again, 
very,  very  delicately.  Again,  and  yet  again;  till, 
suddenly,  reaching  a  spot  where  the  slope  was 
steeper,  it  rolled  of  its  own  accord,  and  dropped 
with  a  splash  into  the  icy  current. 

As  it  came  to  the  surface  the  porcupine  straight- 
ened itself  out  to  swim  for  the  opposite  shore.  But 
like  a  flash  the  panther's  paw  scooped  under  it,  and 
the  long  keen  claws  caught  it  in  the  unshielded 
belly.  Unavailing  now  were  those  myriad  bristling 
spear-points;  and  when  the  panther  continued  his 
journey  he  left  behind  him  but  a  skin  of  quills 
and  some  blood-stains  on  the  snow,  to  tell  the 
envious  lucifees  that  one  had  passed  that  way  who 
knew  how  to  outwit  the  porcupine. 

On  the  following  day,  about  noon,  he  came  across 
an  astonishing  and  incomprehensible  trail,  at  the 
first  sight  and  scent  of  which  the  hair  rose  along 
his  backbone. 

The  scent  of  the  strange  trail  he  knew,  —  and 
hated  it,  and  feared  it.  It  was  the  man-scent.  Bur 
the  shape  and  size  of  the  tracks  at  first  appalled 
him.  He  had  seen  men,  and  the  footprints  of  men; 
but  never  men  with  feet  so  vast  as  these.  The 
trail  was  perhaps  an  hour  old.  He  sniffed  at  it  and 


"HE  PUSHED  THE  BALL  AGAIN,  VERY,  VERY  DELICATELY." 


Ube  TKHatcbers  of  tbe  Camp*  Jf  ire    251 

puzzled  over  it  for  a  time;  and  then,  perceiving 
that  the  man-scent  clung  only  in  a  little  depression 
about  the  centre  of  each  track,  concluded  that  the 
man  who  had  made  the  track  was  no  bigger  than 
such  men  as  he  had  seen.  The  rest  of  the  trail 
was  a  puzzle,  indeed,  but  it  presently  ceased  to 
appal.  Thereupon  he  changed  his  direction,  and 
followed  the  man's  trail  at  a  rapid  pace.  His  cour- 
age was  not  strung  up  to  the  pitch  of  resolving 
to  attack  this  most  dangerous  and  most  dreaded  of 
all  creatures;  but  his  hunger  urged  him  insistently, 
and  he  hoped  for  some  lucky  chance  of  catching 
the  man  at  a  disadvantage.  Moreover,  it  would 
soon  be  night,  and  he  knew  that  with  darkness  his 
courage  would  increase,  while  that  of  the  man  — 
a  creature  who  could  not  see  well  in  the  dark  — 
should  by  all  the  laws  of  the  wilderness  diminish. 
He  licked  his  lean  chops  at  the  thought  of  what 
would  happen  to  the  man  unawares. 

For  some  time  he  followed  the  trail  at  a  sham- 
bling lope,  every  now  and  then  dropping  into  an 
easy  trot  for  the  easement  of  the  change.  Occa- 
sionally he  would  stop  and  lie  down  for  a  few 
minutes  at  full  length,  to  rest  his  overdriven  lungs, 
being  short-winded  after  the  fashion  of  his  kind. 
But  when,  toward  sundown,  when  the  shadows 


*S*          tTbe  Ikinbreb  of  tbe 

began  to  lengthen  and  turn  blue  upon  the  snow,  and 
the  western  sky,  through  the  spruce-tops,  took  upon 
a  bitter  wintry  orange  dye,  he  noticed  that  the 
trail  was  growing  fresher.  So  strong  did  the  man- 
scent  become  that  he  expected  every  moment  to 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  man  through  the  thicket. 
Thereupon  he  grew  very  cautious.  No  longer  would 
he  either  lope  or  trot;  but  he  crept  forward,  belly 
to  the  ground,  setting  down  each  paw  with  delicacy 
and  precaution.  He  kept  turning  the  yellow  flame 
of  his  eyes  from  side  to  side  continually,  searching 
the  undergrowth  on  every  hand,  and  often  looking 
back  along  his  own  track.  He  knew  that  men 
were  sometimes  inconceivably  stupid,  but  at  other 
times  cunning  beyond  all  the  craft  of  the  wood  folk. 
He  was  not  going  to  let  himself  become  the  hunted 
instead  of  the  hunter,  caught  in  the  old  device  of 
the  doubled  trail. 

At  last,  as  twilight  was  gathering  headway 
among  the  thickets,  he  was  startled  by  a  succession 
of  sharp  sounds  just  ahead  of  him.  He  stopped, 
and  crouched  motionless  in  his  tracks.  But  pres- 
ently he  recognised  and  understood  the  sharp 
sounds,  especially  when  they  were  followed  by  a 
crackling  and  snapping  of  dry  branches.  They 
were  axe-strokes.  He  had  heard  them  in  the  neigh- 


IKHatcbers  of  tbe  Camp-fire    253 

bourhood  of  the  lumber  camps,  before  his  five  years' 
retirement  on  the  head  waters  of  the  Upsalquitch. 
With  comprehension  came  new  courage,  —  for  the 
wild  folk  put  human  wisdom  to  shame  in  their 
judicious  fear  of  what  they  do  not  understand.  He 
crept  a  little  nearer,  and  from  safe  hiding  watched 
the  man  at  his  task  of  gathering  dry  firewood  for 
the  night.  From  time  to  time  the  man  looked  about 
him  alertly,  half  suspiciously,  as  if  he  felt  himself 
watched;  but  he  could  not  discover  the  pale,  cruel 
eyes  that  followed  him  unwinking  from  the  depths 
of  the  hemlock  thicket. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  panther  was  surprised  to 
see  the  man  take  one  of  his  heavy  snow-shoes  and 
begin  digging  vigorously  at  the  snow.  In  a  little 
while  there  was  a  circular  hole  dug  so  deep  that 
when  the  man  stood  up  in  it  little  more  than  his 
head  and  shoulders  appeared  over  the  edge.  Then 
he  carried  in  a  portion  of  the  wood  which  he  had 
cut,  together  with  a  big  armful  of  spruce  boughs; 
and  he  busied  himself  for  awhile  at  the  bottom 
of  the  hole,  his  head  appearing  now  and  then,  but 
only  for  a  moment.  The  panther  was  filled  with 
curiosity,  but  restrained  himself  from  drawing 
nearer  to  investigate.  Then,  when  it  had  grown 
so  dark  that  he  was  about  to  steal  from  his  hiding 


254          Ube  Ikiufcrefc  of  tbe 

and  creep  closer,  suddenly  there  was  a  flash  of 
light,  and  smoke  and  flame  arose  from  the  hole, 
throwing  a  red,  revealing  glare  on  every  covert; 
and  the  panther,  his  lips  twitching  and  his  hair 
rising,  shrank  closer  into  his  retreat. 

The  smoke,  and  the  scent  of  the  burning  sticks, 
killed  the  scent  of  the  man  in  the  panther's  nostrils. 
But  presently  there  was  a  new  scent,  warm,  rich, 
and  appetising.  The  panther  did  not  know  it,  but 
he  liked  it.  It  was  the  smell  of  frying  bacon. 
Seeing  that  the  man  was  much  occupied  over  the 
fire,  the  hungry  beast  made  a  partial  circuit  of  the 
camp-fire,  and  noiselessly  climbed  a  tree  whence 
he  could  look  down  into  the  mysterious  hole. 

From  this  post  of  vantage  he  watched  the  man 
make  his  meal,  smoke  his  pipe,  replenish  the  fire, 
and  finally,  rolling  himself  in  his  heavy  blanket, 
compose  himself  to  sleep.  Then,  little  by  little, 
the  panther  crept  nearer.  He  feared  the  fire;  but 
the  fire  soon  began  to  die  down,  and  he  despised  it 
as  he  saw  it  fading.  He  crept  out  upon  a  massive 
hemlock  limb,  almost  overlooking  the  hole,  but 
screened  by  a  veil  of  fine  green  branches.  From 
this  post  he  could  spring  upon  the  sleeper  at  one 
bound,  —  as  soon  as  he  could  make  up  his  mind 
to  the  audacious  enterprise.  He  feared  the  man, 


TKftatcbers  of  tbe  Camp^jftre    255 

even  asleep;  in  fact,  he  stood  in  strange  awe  of 
the  helpless,  slumbering  form.  But  little  by  little 
he  began  to  realise  that  he  feared  his  own  hunger 
more.  Lower  and  lower  sank  the  fainting  fire; 
and  he  resolved  that  as  soon  as  the  sleeper  should 
stir  in  his  sleep,  beginning  to  awake,  he  would 
spring.  But  the  sleeper  slept  unstirring;  and  so 
the  panther,  equally  unstirring,  watched. 

ii. 

A  little  beyond  the  camp-fire  where  the  man  lay 
sleeping  under  those  sinister  eyes,  rose  the  slopes 
of  a  wooded  ridge.  The  ridge  was  covered  with 
a  luxuriant  second  growth  of  birch,  maple,  Canada 
fir,  moose-wood,  and  white  spruce,  the  ancient 
forest  having  fallen  years  before  under  the  axes  of 
the  lumbermen.  Here  on  the  ridge,  where  the  food 
they  loved  was  abundant,  a  buck,  with  his  herd  of 
does  and  fawns,  had  established  his  winter  "  yard." 
With  their  sharp,  slim  hoofs  which  cut  deep  into 
the  snow,  if  the  deer  were  compelled  to  seek  their 
food  at  large  they  would  find  themselves  at  the 
mercy  of  every  foe  as  soon  as  the  snow  lay  deep 
enough  to  impede  their  running.  It  is  their  custom, 
therefore,  at  the  beginning  of  winter,  to  select  a 
locality  where  the  food  supply  will  not  fail  them, 


256          tTbe  Ifcfnbreb  of  tbe 

and  intersect  the  surface  of  the  snow  in  every  direc- 
tion with  an  inextricable  labyrinth  of  paths.  These 
paths  are  kept  well  trodden,  whatever  snow  may 
fall.  If  straightened  out  they  would  reach  for 
many  a  league.  To  unravel  their  intricacies  is 
a  task  to  which  only  the  memories  of  their  makers 
are  equal,  and  along  them  the  deer  flee  like  wraiths 
at  any  alarm.  If  close  pressed  by  an  enemy  they 
will  leap,  light  as  birds,  from  one  deep  path  to 
another,  leaving  no  mark  on  the  intervening  barrier 
of  snow,  and  breaking  the  trail  effectually.  Thus 
when  the  snow  lies  deep,  the  yard  becomes  their 
spacious  citadel,  and  the  despair  of  pursuing  lynx 
or  panther.  A  herd  of  deer  well  yarded,  under  the 
leadership  of  an  old  and  crafty  buck,  will  come  safe 
and  sleek  through  the  fiercest  wilderness  winter. 

The  little  herd  which  occupied  this  particular 
yard  chanced  to  be  feeding,  in  the  glimmer  of  the 
winter  twilight,  very  near  the  foot  of  the  ridge, 
when  suddenly  a  faint  red  glow,  stealing  through 
the  branches,  caught  the  old  buck's  eye.  There  was 
a  quick  stamp  of  warning,  and  on  the  instant  the 
herd  turned  to  statues,  their  faces  all  one  way,  their 
sensitive  ears,  vibrating  nostrils,  and  wide  atten- 
tive eyes  all  striving  to  interpret  the  prodigy.  They 
were  a  herd  of  the  deep  woods.  Not  one  of  them 


TKaatcfoers  of  tbe  Camp=fffre    257 

had  ever  been  near  the  settlements.  Not  even  the 
wise  old  leader  had  ever  seen  a  fire.  This  light, 
when  the  sun  had  set  and  no  moon  held  the  sky, 
was  inexplicable. 

But  to  the  deer  a  mystery  means  something  to 
be  solved.  He  has  the  perilous  gift  of  curiosity. 
After  a  few  minutes  of  moveless  watching,  the  whole 
herd,  in  single  file,  began  noiselessly  threading  the 
lower  windings  of  the  maze,  drawing  nearer  and 
nearer  to  the  strange  light.  When  the  first  smell 
of  the  burning  came  to  their  nostrils  they  stopped 
again,  but  not  for  long.  That  smell  was  just 
another  mystery  to  be  looked  into.  At  the  smell 
of  the  frying  pork  they  stopped  again,  this  time 
for  a  longer  period  and  with  symptoms  of  uneasi- 
ness. To  their  delicate  nerves  there  was  something 
of  a  menace  in  that  forbidding  odour.  But  even 
so,  it  was  to  be  investigated;  and  very  soon  they 
resumed  their  wary  advance. 

A  few  moments  more  and  they  came  to  a  spot 
where,  peering  through  a  cover  of  spruce  boughs, 
their  keen  eyes  could  see  the  hole  in  the  snow,  the 
camp-fire,  and  the  man  seated  beside  it  smoking  his 
pipe.  It  was  all  very  wonderful;  but  instinct  told 
them  it  was  perilous,  and  the  old  buck  decided  that 
the  information  they  had  acquired  was  sufficient 


258          abe  Ifciufcrefc  ot  tbe 

for  all  practical  purposes  of  a  deer's  daily  life.  He 
would  go  no  nearer.  The  whole  herd  stood  there 
for  a  long  time,  forgetting  to  eat,  absorbed  in  the 
novelty  and  wonder  of  the  scene. 

The  whole  herd,  did  I  say?  There  was  one 
exception.  To  a  certain  young  doe  that  fire  was 
the  most  fascinating  thing  in  life.  It  drew  her. 
It  hypnotised  her.  After  a  few  minutes  of  still- 
ness she  could  resist  no  longer.  She  pushed  past 
the  leader  of  the  herd  and  stole  noiselessly  toward 
the  shining  lovely  thing.  The  old  buck  signalled 
her  back,  —  first  gently,  then  angrily ;  but  she  had 
grown  forgetful  of  the  laws  of  the  herd.  She 
had  but  one  thought,  to  get  nearer  to  the  camp-fire, 
and  drench  her  vision  in  the  entrancing  glow. 

Nevertheless,  for  all  her  infatuation,  she  forgot 
not  her  ancestral  gift  of  prudence.  She  went  noise- 
lessly as  a  shadow,  drifting,  pausing,  listening, 
sniffing  the  air,  concealing  herself  behind  every 
cover.  The  rest  of  the  herd  gazed  after  her  with 
great  eyes  of  resignation,  then  left  her  to  her  way- 
ward will  and  resumed  their  watching  of  the  camp- 
fire.  When  one  member  of  a  herd  persists  in 
disobeying  orders,  the  rest  endure  with  equanimity 
whatever  fate  may  befall  her. 

Step  by  step,  as  if  treading  on  egg-shells,  the 


"STOLE   NOISELESSLY    TOWARD    THE   SHINING   LOVELY    THING." 


TKHatcbers  of  tbe  Campsite    261 

fascinated  doe  threaded  the  path  till  she  came  to 
the  lowest  limit  of  the  yard.  From  that  point  the 
path  swerved  back  up  the  ridge,  forsaking  the 
ruddy  glow.  The  doe  paused,  hesitating.  She  was 
still  too  far  from  the  object  of  her  admiration  and 
wonder;  but  she  feared  the  deep  snow.  Her 
irresolution  soon  passed,  however.  Getting  behind 
a  thick  hemlock,  she  cautiously  raised  herself  over 
the  barrier  and  made  straight  for  the  camp-fire. 

Packed  as  the  snow  was,  her  light  weight  enabled 
her  to  traverse  it  without  actually  floundering.  She 
sank  deep  at  every  step,  but  had  perfect  control 
of  her  motions,  and  made  no  more  sound  than  if 
she  had  been  a  bunch  of  fur  blown  softly  over  the 
surface.  Her  absorption  and  curiosity,  moreover, 
did  not  lead  her  to  omit  any  proper  precaution  of 
woodcraft.  As  she  approached  the  fire  she  kept 
always  in  the  dense,  confusing,  shifting  shadows 
which  a  camp-fire  casts  in  the  forest.  These  fitful 
shadows  were  a  very  effectual  concealment. 

At  last  she  found  herself  so  close  to  the  fire  that 
only  a  thicket  of  young  spruce  divided  her  from 
the  edge  of  the  hole. 

Planting  herself  rigidly,  her  gray  form  an  inde- 
terminate shadow  among  the  blotches  and  streaks 
of  shadow,  her  wide  mild  eyes  watched  the  man 


262          Ube  fanfcrefc  of  tbe 

with  intensest  interest,  as  he  knocked  out  his  pipe, 
mended  the  fire,  and  rolled  himself  into  his  blanket 
on  the  spruce  boughs.  When  she  saw  that  he  was 
asleep,  she  presently  forgot  about  him.  Her  eyes 
returned  to  the  fire  and  fixed  themselves  upon  it. 
The  veering,  diminishing  flames  held  her  as  by 
sorcery.  All  else  was  forgotten,  —  food,  foes,  and 
the  herd  alike,  —  as  she  stared  with  childlike 
eagerness  at  the  bed  of  red  coals.  The  pupils  of 
her  eyes  kept  alternately  expanding  and  contracting, 
as  the  glow  in  the  coals  waxed  and  waned  under 
the  fluctuating  breath  of  passing  airs. 

ni. 

Very  early  that  same  morning,  a  brown  and  griz- 
zled chopper  in  Nicholson's  camp,  having  obtained 
a  brief  leave  of  absence  from  the  Boss,  had  started 
out  on  his  snow-shoes  for  a  two  days'  tramp  to 
the  settlements.  He  had  been  seized  the  night 
before  with  a  sudden  and  irresistible  homesickness. 
Shrewd,  whimsical,  humourous,  kind,  ever  ready  to 
stand  by  a  comrade,  fearless  in  all  the  daunting 
emergencies  which  so  often  confront  the  lumbermen 
in  their  strenuous  calling,  these  sudden  attacks  of 
homesickness  were  his  one  and  well-known  failing 
in  the  eyes  of  his  fellows.  At  least  once  in  every 


TTbe  TKHatcbers  of  tbe  Campsite    263 

winter  he  was  sure  to  be  so  seized;  and  equally 
sure  to  be  so  favoured  by  the  Boss.  On  account  of 
his  popularity  in  the  camp,  moreover,  this  favour 
excited  no  jealousy.  It  had  come  to  be  taken  as 
a  matter  of  course  that  Mac  would  go  home  for 
a  few  days  if  one  of  his  "  spells  "  came  upon  him. 
He  was  always  "  docked,"  to  be  sure,  for  the  time 
of  his  absence,  but  as  he  never  stayed  away  more 
than  a  week,  his  little  holiday  made  no  very  serious 
breach  in  his  roll  when  pay-day  came. 

Though  not  a  hunter,  the  man  was  a  thorough 
woodsman.  He  knew  the  woods,  and  the  furtive 
inhabitants  of  them;  and  he  loved  to  study  their 
ways.  Trails,  in  particular,  were  a  passion  with 
him,  and  he  could  read  the  varying  purposes  of 
the  wild  things  by  the  changes  in  their  footprints 
on  the  snow.  He  was  learned,  too,  in  the  occult 
ways  of  the  otter,  whom  few  indeed  are  cunning 
enough  to  observe ;  and  he  had  even  a  rudimentary 
knowledge  of  the  complex  vocabulary  of  the  crow. 
He  had  no  care  to  kill  the  wild  things,  great  or 
small;  yet  he  was  a  famous  marksman,  with  his 
keen  gray  eye  and  steady  hand.  And  he  always 
carried  a  rifle  on  his  long,  solitary  tramps. 

He  had  two  good  reasons  for  carrying  the  rifle. 
The  first  of  these  was  the  fact  that  he  had  never 


264          Ube  IRtufcrefc  ot  tbe  mfU> 

seen  a  panther,  and  went  always  in  the  hope 
of  meeting  one.  The  stories  which  he  had  heard 
of  them,  current  in  all  the  lumber  camps  of  northern 
New  Brunswick,  were  so  conflicting  that  he  could 
not  but  feel  uncertain  as  to  the  terms  on  which  the 
encounter  was  likely  to  take  place.  The  only  point 
on  which  he  felt  assured  was  that  he  and  the  pan- 
ther would  some  day  meet,  in  spite  of  the  fact 
that  the  great  cat  had  grown  so  scarce  in  New 
Brunswick  that  some  hunters  declared  it  was  ex- 
tinct. The  second  reason  was  that  he  had  a  quarrel 
with  all  lucifees  or  lynxes,  — "  Injun  devils,"  he 
called  them.  Once  when  he  was  a  baby,  just  big 
enough  to  sit  up  when  strapped  into  his  chair,  a 
lucifee  had  come  and  glared  at  him  with  fierce  eyes 
through  the  doorway  of  his  lonely  backwoods  cabin. 
His  mother  had  come  rushing  from  the  cow-shed, 
just  in  time;  and  the  lucifee,  slinking  off  to  the 
woods,  had  vented  his  disappointment  in  a  series  of 
soul-curdling  screeches.  The  memory  of  this  terror 
was  a  scar  in  his  heart,  which  time  failed  to  efface. 
He  grew  up  to  hate  all  lucifees ;  and  from  the  day 
when  he  learned  to  handle  a  gun  he  was  always 
ready  to  hunt  them. 

On  this  particular  day  of  his  life  he  had  travelled 
all  the  morning  without  adventure,  his  face  set 


Watcbers  ot  tbe  Camp^jffre    265 

eagerly  toward  the  west.  Along  in  the  afternoon 
he  was  once  or  twice  surprised  by  a  creeping  sensa- 
tion along  his  backbone  and  in  the  roots  of  the 
hair  on  his  neck.  He  stopped  and  peered  about 
him  searchingly,  with  a  feeling  that  he  was  fol- 
lowed. But  he  had  implicit  faith  in  his  eyesight; 
and  when  that  revealed  no  menace  he  went  onward 
reassured. 

But  when  the  diversion  of  gathering  firewood 
and  digging  the  hole  that  served  him  for  a  camp 
came  to  an  end,  and  he  stooped  to  build  his  camp- 
fire,  that  sensation  of  being  watched  came  over 
him  again.  It  was  so  strong  that  he  straightened 
up  sharply,  and  scrutinised  every  thicket  within 
eyeshot.  Thereafter,  though  he  could  see  nothing 
to  justify  his  curious  uneasiness,  the  sensation  kept 
recurring  insistently  all  the  time  that  he  was  occu- 
pied in  cooking  and  eating  his  meal.  When  at  last 
he  was  ready  to  turn  in  for  his  brief  night's  sleep, 
—  he  planned  to  be  afoot  again  before  dawn,  — 
he  heaped  his  frugal  camp-fire  a  little  higher  than 
usual,  and  took  the  quite  unwonted  precaution  of 
laying  his  rifle  within  instant  grasp  of  his  hand. 

In  spite  of  these  vague  warnings,  wherein  his 
instinct  showed  itself  so  much  more  sagacious  than 
his  reason,  he  fell  asleep  at  once.  His  wholesome 


266          Ube  Ititt&refc  of  tbe 

drowsiness,  in  that  clear  and  vital  air,  was  not  to 
be  denied.  But  once  deep  asleep,  beyond  the  vacil- 
lation of  ordered  thought  and  the  obstinacies  of 
will,  his  sensitive  intuitions  reasserted  themselves. 
They  insisted  sharply  on  his  giving  heed  to  their 
warnings;  and  all  at  once  he  found  himself  wide 
awake  with  not  a  vestige  of  sleep's  heaviness  left 
in  his  brain. 

With  his  trained  woodcraft,  however,  he  knew 
that  it  was  some  peril  that  had  thus  awakened  him, 
and  he  gave  no  sign  of  his  waking.  Without  a 
movement,  without  a  change  in  his  slow,  deep 
breathing,  he  half  opened  his  eyes  and  scanned  the 
surrounding  trees  through  narrowed  lids. 

Presently  he  caught  a  glimmer  of  big,  soft, 
round  eyes  gazing  at  him  through  a  tangle  of 
spruce  boughs.  Were  they  gazing  at  him?  No, 
it  was  the  fire  that  held  their  harmless  attention. 
He  guessed  the  owner  of  those  soft  eyes;  and  in 
a  moment  or  two  he  was  able  to  discern  dimly 
the  lines  of  the  deer's  head  and  neck. 

His  first  impulse  was  to  laugh  impatiently  at  his 
own  folly.  Had  he  been  enduring  all  these  creepy 
apprehensions  because  an  inquisitive  doe  had  fol- 
lowed him  ?  Had  his  nerves  grown  so  sensitive  that 
the  staring  of  a  chipmunk  or  a  rabbit  had  power 


ttbe  TKHatcbers  of  tbe  Campsite    267 

to  break  his  sleep  ?  But  while  these  thoughts  rushed 
through  his  brain  his  body  lay  still  as  before,  obedi- 
ent to  the  subtle  dictates  of  his  instinct.  His  long 
study  of  the  wild  things  had  taught  him  much  of 
their  special  wisdom.  He  swept  his  glance  around 
the  dim-lit  aisle  as  far  as  he  could  without  per- 
ceptibly turning  his  head  —  and  met  the  lambent 
blue-green  gaze  of  the  watching  panther! 

Through  the  thin  veil  of  the  hemlock  twigs,  he 
saw  the  body  of  the  animal,  gathered  for  the 
spring,  and  realised  with  a  pang  that  the  long 
expected  had  not  arrived  in  just  the  form  he  would 
have  chosen.  He  knew  better  than  to  reach  for 
his  rifle,  —  because  he  knew  that  the  least  move- 
ment of  head  or  hand  would  be  the  signal  for  the 
launching  of  that  fatal  leap.  There  was  nothing 
to  do  but  wait,  and  keep  motionless,  and  think. 

The  strain  of  that  waiting  was  unspeakable,  and 
under  it  the  minutes  seemed  hours.  But  just  as 
he  was  beginning  to  think  he  could  stand  it  no 
longer,  a  brand  in  the  fire  burned  through  and  broke 
smartly.  Flames  leapt  up,  with  a  shower  of  sparks, 
—  and  the  panther,  somewhat  startled,  drew  back 
and  shifted  his  gaze.  It  was  but  for  an  instant, 
but  in  that  instant  the  man  had  laid  hold  of  his  rifle, 
drawn  it  to  him,  and  got  it  into  a  position  where 


268          Ube  Ikinfcrefc  of  tbe  TPQUifc 

x 

one  more  swift  movement  would  enable  him  to 
shoot. 

But  not  the  panther  only  had  been  startled  by  the 
breaking  brand,  the  leaping  flame.  The  young  doe 
had  leapt  backward,  so  that  a  great  birch  trunk  cut 
off  her  view  of  the  fire.  The  first  alarm  gone  by, 
she  moved  to  recover  her  post  of  vantage.  Very 
stealthily  and  silently  she  moved,  —  but  the  motion 
caught  the  panther's  eye. 

The  man  noted  a  change  in  the  direction  of  the 
beast's  gaze,  a  change  in  the  light  of  his  eye- 
balls. There  was  no  more  hate  in  them,  no  more 
doubt  and  dread ;  only  hunger,  and  eager  triumph. 
As  softly  as  an  owl's  wings  move  through  the 
coverts,  the  great  beast  drew  back,  and  started  to 
descend  from  the  tree.  He  would  go  stalk  deer, 
drink  warm  deer's  blood,  and  leave  the  dangerous 
sleeper  to  his  dreams. 

But  the  man  considered.  Panthers  were  indeed 
very  few  in  New  Brunswick,  and  undeniably  inter- 
esting. But  he  loved  the  deer;  and  to  this  particu- 
lar doe  he  felt  that  he  perhaps  owed  his  life.  The 
debt  should  be  paid  in  full. 

As  the  panther  turned  to  slip  down  the  trunk 
of  the  tree,  the  man  sat  up  straight.  He  took 
careful  but  almost  instantaneous  aim,  at  a  point 

. 


IKaatcbers  ot  tbe  Camp^jfire    269 

just  behind  the  beast's  fore-shoulder.  At  the  report 
the  great  body  fell  limp,  a  huddled  heap  of  fur  and 
long  bared  fangs.  The  man  sprang  to  his  feet 
and  stirred  the  camp-fire  to  a  blaze.  And  the  doe, 
her  heart  pounding  with  panic,  her  curiosity  all 
devoured  in  consuming  terror,  went  crashing  off 
through  the  bushes. 


OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


Wben  ZTwUigbt  falls  on  tbe  Stump 

Xots 

x 

I  HE  wet,  chill  first  of  the  spring,  its  black- 
ness made  tender  by  the  lilac  wash  of 
the  afterglow,  lay  upon  the  high,  open 
stretches  of  the  stump  lots.  The  winter-whitened 
stumps,  the  sparse  patches  of  juniper  and  bay  just 
budding,  the  rough-mossed  hillocks,  the  harsh 
boulders  here  and  there  up-thrusting  from  the  soil, 
the  swampy  hollows  wherein  a  coarse  grass  began 
to  show  green,  all  seemed  anointed,  as  it  were,  to  an 
ecstasy  of  peace  by  the  chrism  of  that  paradisal 
colour.  Against  the  lucid  immensity  of  the  April 
sky  the  thin  tops  of  five  or  six  soaring  ram-pikes 
aspired  like  violet  flames.  Along  the  skirts  of  the 
stump  lots  a  fir  wood  reared  a  ragged-crested  wall 
of  black  against  the  red  amber  of  the  horizon. 

Late  that  afternoon,  beside  a  juniper  thicket  not 
far  from  the  centre  of  the  stump  lots,  a  young  black 
and  white  cow  had  given  birth  to  her  first  calf.  The 
little  animal  had  been  licked  assiduously  by  the 

273 


274          ftbe  Ikfnbrefc  or  tbe  Witt) 

mother's  caressing  tongue  till  its  colour  began  to 
show  of  a  rich  dark  red.  Now  it  had  struggled 
to  its  feet,  and,  with  its  disproportionately  long, 
thick  legs  braced  wide  apart,  was  beginning  to 
nurse.  Its  blunt  wet  muzzle  and  thick  lips  tugged 
eagerly,  but  somewhat  blunderingly  as  yet,  at  the 
unaccustomed  teats;  and  its  tail  lifted,  twitching 
with  delight,  as  the  first  warm  streams  of  mother 
milk  went  down  its  throat.  It  was  a  pathetically 
awkward,  unlovely  little  figure,  not  yet  advanced  to 
that  youngling  winsomeness  which  is  the  heritage, 
to  some  degree  and  at  some  period,  of  the  infancy 
of  all  the  kindreds  that  breathe  upon  the  earth. 
But  to  the  young  mother's  eyes  it  was  the  most 
beautiful  of  things.  With  her  head  twisted  far 
around,  she  nosed  and  licked  its  heaving  flanks  as 
it  nursed ;  and  between  deep,  ecstatic  breathings  she 
uttered  in  her  throat  low  murmurs,  unspeakably 
tender,  of  encouragement  and  caress.  The  delicate 
but  pervading  flood  of  sunset  colour  had  the  effect 
of  blending  the  ruddy-hued  calf  into  the  tones  of 
the  landscape;  but  the  cow's  insistent  blotches  of 
black  and  white  stood  out  sharply,  refusing  to  har- 
monise. The  drench  of  violet  light  was  of  no  avail 
to  soften  their  staring  contrasts.  They  made  her 
vividly  conspicuous  across  the  whole  breadth  of  the 


Mben  tTwtliobt  Jf  alls  on  tbe  Stump  OLots  275 

stump  lots,  to  eyes  that  watched  her  from  the  forest 
coverts. 

The  eyes  that  watched  her  —  long,  fixedly,  hun- 
grily—  were  small  and  red.  They  belonged  to  a 
lank  she-bear,  whose  gaunt  flanks  and  rusty  coat 
proclaimed  a  season  of  famine  in  the  wilderness. 
She  could  not  see  the  calf,  which  was  hidden  by 
a  hillock  and  some  juniper  scrub;  but  its  presence 
was  very  legibly  conveyed  to  her  by  the  mother's 
solicitous  watchfulness.  After  a  motionless  scru- 
tiny from  behind  the  screen  of  fir  branches,  the 
lean  bear  stole  noiselessly  forth  from  the  shadows 
into  the  great  wash  of  violet  light.  Step  by  step, 
and  very  slowly,  with  the  patience  that  endures  be- 
cause confident  of  its  object,  she  crept  toward  that 
oasis  of  mothering  joy  in  the  vast  emptiness  of  the 
stump  lots.  Now  crouching,  now  crawling,  turn- 
ing to  this  side  and  to  that,  taking  advantage  of 
every  hollow,  every  thicket,  every  hillock,  every 
aggressive  stump,  her  craft  succeeded  in  eluding 
even  the  wild  and  menacing  watchfulness  of  the 
young  mother's  eyes. 

The  spring  had  been  a  trying  one  for  the  lank 
she-bear.  Her  den,  in  a  dry  tract  of  hemlock  wood 
some  furlongs  back  from  the  stump  lots,  was  a 
snug  little  cave  under  the  uprooted  base  of  a  lone 


276          Ube  fcfnbreb  of  tbe  Mtlb 

pine,  which  had  somehow  grown  up  among  the 
alien  hemlocks  only  to  draw  down  upon  itself  at 
last,  by  its  superior  height,  the  fury  of  a  passing 
hurricane.  The  winter  had  contributed  but  scanty 
snowfall  to  cover  the  bear  in  her  sleep;  and  the 
March  thaws,  unseasonably  early  and  ardent,  had 
called  her  forth  to  activity  weeks  too  soon.  Then 
frosts  had  come  with  belated  severity,  sealing 
away  the  budding  tubers,  which  are  the  bear's  chief 
dependence  for  spring  diet;  and  worst  of  all,  a 
long  stretch  of  intervale  meadow  by  the  neighbour- 
ing river,  which  had  once  been  rich  in  ground-nuts, 
had  been  ploughed  up  the  previous  spring  and  sub- 
jected to  the  producing  of  oats  and  corn.  When 
she  was  feeling  the  pinch  of  meagre  rations,  and 
when  the  fat  which  a  liberal  autumn  of  blueberries 
had  laid  up  about  her  ribs  was  getting  as  shrunken 
as  the  last  snow  in  the  thickets,  she  gave  birth  to 
two  hairless  and  hungry  little  cubs.  They  were 
very  blind,  and  ridiculously  small  to  be  born  of 
so  big  a  mother;  and  having  so  much  growth  to 
make  during  the  next  few  months,  their  appetites 
were  immeasurable.  They  tumbled,  and  squealed, 
and  tugged  at  their  mother's  teats,  and  grew  aston- 
ishingly, and  made  huge  haste  to  cover  their  bodies 
with  fur  of  a  soft  and  silken  black;  and  all  this 


TKHben  Uwiltobt  ffails  on  tbe  Stump  Xots  277 

vitality  of  theirs  made  a  strenuous  demand  upon 
their  mother's  milk.  There  were  no  more  bee- 
trees  left  in  the  neighbourhood.  The  long  wander- 
ings which  she  was  forced  to  take  in  her  search  for 
roots  and  tubers  were  in  themselves  a  drain  upon 
her  nursing  powers.  At  last,  reluctant  though  she 
was  to  attract  the  hostile  notice  of  the  settlement, 
she  found  herself  forced  to  hunt  on  the  borders  of 
the  sheep  pastures.  Before  all  else  in  life  was  it 
important  to  her  that  these  two  tumbling  little  ones 
in  the  den  should  not  go  hungry.  Their  eyes  were 
open  now  —  small  and  dark  and  whimsical,  their 
ears  quaintly  large  and  inquiring  for  their  roguish 
little  faces.  Had  she  not  been  driven  by  the  unkind 
season  to  so  much  hunting  and  foraging,  she  would 
have  passed  near  all  her  time  rapturously  in  the 
den  under  the  pine  root,  fondling  those  two  soft 
miracles  of  her  world. 

With  the  killing  of  three  lambs  —  at  widely  scat- 
tered points,  so  as  to  mislead  retaliation  —  things 
grew  a  little  easier  for  the  harassed  bear ;  and  pres- 
ently she  grew  bolder  in  tampering  with  the  crea- 
tures under  man's  protection.  With  one  swift, 
secret  blow  of  her  mighty  paw  she  struck  down 
a  young  ewe  which  had  strayed  within  reach  of 
her  hiding-place.  Dragging  her  prey  deep  into 


278          Ube  *fcin&refc  of  tbe 

the  woods,  she  fared  well  upon  it  for  some  days, 
and  was  happy  with  her  growing  cubs.  It  was 
just  when  she  had  begun  to  feel  the  fasting  which 
came  upon  the  exhaustion  of  this  store  that,  in  a 
hungry  hour,  she  sighted  the  conspicuous  markings 
of  the  black  and  white  cow. 

It  is  altogether  unusual  for  the  black  bear  of 
the  eastern  woods  to  attack  any  quarry  so  large 
as  a  cow,  unless  under  the  spur  of  fierce  hunger 
or  fierce  rage.  The  she-bear  was  powerful  beyond 
her  fellows.  She  had  the  strongest  possible  incen- 
tive to  bold  hunting,  and  she  had  lately  grown  con- 
fident beyond  her  wont.  Nevertheless,  when  she 
began  her  careful  stalking  of  this  big  game  which 
she  coveted,  she  had  no  definite  intention  of  forcing 
a  battle  with  the  cow.  She  had  observed  that  cows, 
accustomed  to  the  protection  of  man,  would  at  times 
leave  their  calves  asleep  and  stray  off  some  distance 
in  their  pasturing.  She  had  even  seen  calves  left 
all  by  themselves  in  a  field,  from  morning  till  night, 
and  had  wondered  at  such  negligence  in  their 
mothers.  Now  she  had  a  confident  idea  that  sooner 
or  later  the  calf  would  lie  down  to  sleep,  and  the 
young  mother  roam  a  little  wide  in  search  of  the 
scant  young  grass.  Very  softly,  very  self-effacingly, 
she  crept  nearer  step  by  step,  following  up  the  wind, 


Wben  ZTwilfabt  falls  on  tbe  Stump  Xots  279 

till  at  last,  undiscovered,  she  was  crouching  behind 
a  thick  patch  of  juniper,  on  the  slope  of  a  little 
hollow  not  ten  paces  distant  from  the  cow  and  the 
calf. 

By  this  time  the  tender  violet  light  was  fading 
to  a  grayness  over  hillock  and  hollow;  and  with 
the  deepening  of  the  twilight  the  faint  breeze,  which 
had  been  breathing  from  the  northward,  shifted 
suddenly  and  came  in  slow,  warm  pulsations  out  of 
the  south.  At  the  same  time  the  calf,  having  nursed 
sufficiently,  and  feeling  his  baby  legs  tired  of  the 
weight  they  had  not  yet  learned  to  carry,  laid  himself 
down.  On  this  the  cow  shifted  her  position.  She 
turned  half  round,  and  lifted  her  head  high.  As 
she  did  so  a  scent  of  peril  was  borne  in  upon  her 
fine  nostrils.  She  recognised  it  instantly.  With 
a  snort  of  anger  she  sniffed  again;  then  stamped 
a  challenge  with  her  fore  hoofs,  and  levelled  the 
lance-points  of  her  horns  toward  the  menace.  The 
next  moment  her  eyes,  made  keen  by  the  fear  of 
love,  detected  the  black  outline  of  the  bear's  head 
through  the  coarse  screen  of  the  juniper.  Without 
a  second's  hesitation,  she  flung  up  her  tail,  gave 
a  short  bellow,  and  charged. 

The  moment  she  saw  herself  detected,  the  bear 
rose  upon  her  hindquarters;  nevertheless  she  was 


280          Ube  1Unfcre&  of  tbe  TPOUlfc 

in  a  measure  surprised  by  the  sudden  blind  fury 
of  the  attack.  Nimbly  she  swerved  to  avoid  it, 
aiming  at  the  same  time  a  stroke  with  her  mighty 
forearm,  which,  if  it  had  found  its  mark,  would 
have  smashed  her  adversary's  neck.  But  as  she 
struck  out,  in  the  act  of  shifting  her  position,  a 
depression  of  the  ground  threw  her  off  her  balance. 
The  next  instant  one  sharp  horn  caught  her  slant- 
ingly in  the  flank,  ripping  its  way  upward  and 
inward,  while  the  mad  impact  threw  her  upon  her 
back. 

Grappling,  she  had  her  assailant's  head  and 
shoulders  in  a  trap,  and  her  gigantic  claws  cut 
through  the  flesh  and  sinew  like  knives;  but  at 
the  desperate  disadvantage  of  her  position  she 
could  inflict  no  disabling  blow.  The  cow,  on  the 
other  hand,  though  mutilated  and  streaming  with 
blood,  kept  pounding  with  her  whole  massive 
weight,  and  with  short  tremendous  shocks  crush- 
ing the  breath  from  her  foe's  ribs. 

Presently,  wrenching  herself  free,  the  cow  drew 
off  for  another  battering  charge;  and  as  she  did 
so  the  bear  hurled  herself  violently  down  the  slope, 
and  gained  her  feet  behind  a  dense  thicket  of  bay 
shrub.  The  cow,  with  one  eye  blinded  and  the 
other  obscured  by  blood,  glared  around  for  her 


TPfllben  Uwiliobt  jf alls  on  tbe  Stump  3Lots  283 

in  vain,  then,  in  a  panic  of  mother  terror,  plunged 
back  to  her  calf. 

Snatching  at  the  respite,  the  bear  crouched  down, 
craving  that  invisibility  which  is  the  most  faithful 
shield  of  the  furtive  kindred.  Painfully,  and 
leaving  a  drenched  red  trail  behind  her,  she  crept 
off  from  the  disastrous  neighbourhood.  Soon  the 
deepening  twilight  sheltered  her.  But  she  could 
not  make  haste;  and  she  knew  that  death  was  close 
upon  her. 

Once  within  the  woods,  she  struggled  straight 
toward  the  den  that  held  her  young.  She  hungered 
to  die  licking  them.  But  destiny  is  as  implacable  as 
iron  to  the  wilderness  people,  and  even  this  was 
denied  her.  Just  a  half  score  of  paces  from  the  lair 
in  the  pine  root,  her  hour  descended  upon  her. 
There  was  a  sudden  redder -and  fuller  gush  upon 
the  trail;  the  last  light  of  longing  faded  out  of 
her  eyes;  and  she  lay  down  upon  her  side. 

The  merry  little  cubs  within  the  den  were  begin- 
ning to  expect  her,  and  getting  restless.  As  the 
night  wore  on,  and  no  mother  came,  they  ceased  to 
be  merry.  By  morning  they  were  shivering  with 
hunger  and  desolate  fear.  But  the  doom  of  the 
ancient  wood  was  less  harsh  than  its  wont,  and 
spared  them  some  days  of  starving  anguish;  for 


284          Ube  Ikiufcrefc  of  tbe 

about  noon  a  pair  of  foxes  discovered  the  dead 
mother,  astutely  estimated  the  situation,  and  then, 
with  the  boldness  of  good  appetite,  made  their  way 
into  the  unguarded  den. 

As  for  the  red  calf,  its  fortune  was  ordinary.  Its 
mother,  for  all  her  wounds,  was  able  to  nurse  and 
cherish  it  through  the  night;  and  with  morning 
came  a  searcher  from  the  farm  and  took  it,  with 
the  bleeding  mother,  safely  back  to  the  settlement. 
There  it  was  tended  and  fattened,  and  within  a 
few  weeks  found  its  way  to  the  cool  marble  slabs 
of  a  city  market. 


Iking  of  tbe  flDamosefcd 

HEN  the  king  of  the  Mamozekel  barrens 
was  born,  he  was  one  of  the  most  un- 
gainly of  all  calves,  —  a  moose-calf. 
In  the  heart  of  a  tamarack  swamp,  some  leagues 
south  from  Nictau  Mountain,  was  a  dry  little  knoll 
of  hardwood  and  pine  undiscovered  by  the  hunters, 
out  of  the  track  of  the  hunting  beasts.  Neither 
lynx,  bear,  nor  panther  had  tradition  of  it.  There 
was  little  succulent  undergrowth  to  tempt  the  moose 
and  the  caribou.  But  there  the  wild  plum  each 
summer  fruited  abundantly,  and  there  a  sturdy 
brotherhood  of  beeches  each  autumn  lavished  their 
treasure  of  three-cornered  nuts;  and  therefore  the 
knoll  was  populous  with  squirrels  and  grouse. 
Nature,  in  one  of  those  whims  of  hers  by  which 
she  delights  to  confound  the  studious  naturalist,  had 
chosen  to  keep  this  spot  exempt  from  the  law  of 
blood  and  fear  which  ruled  the  rest  of  her  domains. 
To  be  sure,  the  squirrels  would  now  and  then  play 

havoc  with  a  nest  of  grouse  eggs,  or,  in  the  absence 

287 


288          ufoe  Ikinfcrefc  of  tbe 

of  their  chisel-beaked  parents,  do  murder  on  a  nest 
of  young  golden-wings ;  but,  barring  the  outbreaks  of 
these  bright-eyed  incorrigible  marauders,  —  bad 
to  their  very  toes,  and  attractive  to  their  plumy  tail- 
tips,  —  the  knoll  in  the  tamarack  swamp  was  a 
haven  of  peace  amid  the  fierce  but  furtive  warfare 
of  the  wilderness. 

On  this  knoll,  when  the  arbutus  breath  of  the 
northern  spring  was  scenting  the  winds  of  all  the 
Tobique  country,  the  king  was  born,  —  a  moose-calf 
more  ungainly  and  of  mightier  girth  and  limb  than 
any  other  moose-calf  of  the  Mamozekel.  Never 
had  his  mother  seen  such  a  one,  —  and  she  a 
mother  of  lordly  bulls.  He  was  uncouth,  to  be  sure, 
in  any  eyes  but  those  of  his  kind,  —  with  his  high 
humped  fore-shoulders,  his  long,  lugubrious,  over- 
hanging snout,  his  big  ears  set  low  on  his  big 
head,  his  little  eyes  crowded  back  toward  his  ears, 
his  long,  big-knuckled  legs,  and  the  spindling,  lank 
diminutiveness  of  his  hindquarters.  A  grotesque 
figure,  indeed,  and  lacking  altogether  in  that  pa- 
thetic, infantile  winsomeness  which  makes  even 
little  pigs  attractive.  But  any  one  who  knew  about 
moose  would  have  said,  watching  the  huge  baby 
struggle  to  his  feet  and  stand  with  sturdy  legs  well 
braced,  "  There,  if  bears  and  bullets  miss  him  till 


ttbe  Ikins  of  tbe  fl&amoseftel        289 

his  antlers  get  full  spread,  is  the  king  of  the  Mamo- 
zekel."  Now,  when  his  mother  had  licked  him  dry, 
his  coat  showed  a  dark,  very  sombre,  cloudy,  secre- 
tive brown,  of  a  hue  to  be  quite  lost  in  the  shadows 
of  the  fir  and  hemlock  thickets,  and  to  blend  con- 
summately with  the  colour  of  the  tangled  alder 
trunks  along  the  clogged  banks  of  the  Mamozekel. 
The  young  king's  mother  was  perhaps  the  biggest 
and  most  morose  cow  on  all  the  moose  ranges  of 
northern  New  Brunswick.  She  assuredly  had  no 
peer  on  the  barrens  of  the  upper  Tobique  country. 
She  was  also  the  craftiest.  That  was  the  reason 
why,  though  she  was  dimly  known  and  had  been 
blindly  hunted  all  the  way  from  Nictau  Lake,  over 
Mamozekel,  and  down  to  Blue  Mountain  on  the 
main  Tobique,  she  had  never  felt  a  bullet  wound, 
and  had  come  to  be  regarded  by  the  backwoods 
hunters  with  something  of  a  superstitious  awe.  It 
was  of  her  craft,  too,  that  she  had  found  this  knoll 
in  the  heart  of  the  tamarack  swamp,  and  had 
guarded  the  secret  of  it  from  the  herds.  Hither, 
at  calving  time,  she  would  come  by  cunningly 
twisted  trails.  Here  she  would  pass  the  perilous 
hours  in  safety,  unharassed  by  the  need  of  watching 
against  her  stealthy  foes.  And  when  once  she  had 
led  her  calf  away  from  the  retreat,  she  never  re- 
turned to  it,  save  alone,  and  in  another  year. 


290  tEbe  ffcfnbrefc  of  tbe 

For  three  days  the  great  cow  stayed  upon  the 
knoll,  feeding  upon  the  overhanging  branch  tips  of 
mountain-ash  and  poplar.  This  was  good  fodder, 
for  buds  and  twigs  were  swollen  with  sap,  and  succu- 
lent. In  those  three  days  her  sturdy  young  calf 
made  such  gains  in  strength  and  stature  that  he 
would  have  passed  in  the  herd  for  a  calf  of  two 
weeks'  growth.  In  mid-afternoon  of  the  third  day 
she  led  the  way  down  from  the  knoll  and  out  across 
the  quaking  glooms  of  the  tamarack  swamp.  And 
the  squirrels  in  the  budding  branches  chattered  shrill 
derision  about  their  going. 

The  way  led  through  the  deepest  and  most  per- 
ilous part  of  the  swamp;  but  the  mother  knew  the 
safe  trail  in  all  its  windings.  She  knew  where  the 
yielding  surface  of  moss  with  black  pools  on  either 
side  was  not  afloat  on  fathomless  ooze,  but  sup- 
ported by  solid  earth  or  a  framework  of  ancient 
tree  roots.  She  shambled  onward  at  a  very  rapid 
walk,  which  forced  the  gaunt  calf  at  her  heels  to 
break  now  and  then  into  the  long-striding,  tireless 
trot  which  is  the  heritage  of  his  race. 

For  perhaps  an  hour  they  travelled.  Then,  in 
a  little,  partly  open  glade  where  the  good  sound 
earth  rose  up  sweet  from  the  morass,  and  the  moun- 
tain-ash, the  viburnum,  and  the  moose-wood  grew 


Ube  lifna  of  tbe  flDamosefeel        291 

thinly,  and  the  ground  was  starred  with  spring 
blooms,  —  painted  trillium  and  wake-robin,  clay- 
tonia  and  yellow  dog-tooth  and  wind-flower,  —  they 
stopped.  The  calf,  tired  from  his  first  journeying, 
nursed  fiercely,  twitching  his  absurd  stub  of  a  tail, 
butting  at  his  mother's  udder  with  such  discomfort- 
ing eagerness  that  she  had  to  rebuke  him  by  stepping 
aside  and  interrupting  his  meal.  After  several 
experiences  of  this  kind  he  took  the  hint,  and  put 
curb  upon  his  too  robust  impatience.  The  masterful 
spirit  of  a  king  is  liable  to  inconvenience  its  owner 
if  exercised  prematurely. 

By  this  time  the  pink  light  of  sunset  was  begin- 
ning to  stain  the  western  curves  of  branch  and  stem 
and  bud,  changing  the  spring  coolness  of  the  place 
into  a  delicate  riot  of  fairy  colour  and  light,  inter- 
volving  form.  Some  shadows  deepened,  while 
others  disappeared.  Certain  leaves  and  blossoms 
and  pale  limbs  stood  out  with  a  clearness  almost 
startling,  suddenly  emphasised  by  the  level  rays, 
while  others  faded  from  view.  Though  there  was 
no  wind,  the  changed  light  gave  an  effect  of  noise- 
less movement  in  the  glade.  And  in  the  midst  of 
this  gathering  enchantment  the  mother  moose  set 
herself  to  forage  for  her  own  meal. 

Selecting  a  slim  young  birch-tree,  whose  top  was 


292          Ube  fklnbreb  of  tbe 

thick  with  twigs  and  greening  buds,  she  pushed 
against  it  with  her  massive  chest  till  it  bent  nearly 
to  the  ground.  Then  straddling  herself  along  it, 
she  held  it  down  securely  between  her  legs,  moved 
forward  till  the  succulent  top  was  within  easy 
reach,  and  began  to  browse  with  leisurely  jaws  and 
selective  Teachings  out  of  her  long,  discriminating 
upper  lip.  The  calf  stood  close  by,  watching  with 
interest,  his  legs  sympathetically  spread  apart,  his 
head  swung  low  from  his  big  shoulders,  his  great 
ears  swaying  slowly  backward  and  forward,  not 
together,  but  one  at  a  time.  When  the  mother  had 
finished  feeding,  there  were  no  buds,  twigs  or  small 
branches  left  on  the  birch  sapling;  and  the  sunset 
colours  had  faded  out  of  the  glade.  With  dusk 
a  chilly  air  breathed  softly  through  the  trees,  and 
the  mother  led  the  way  into  a  clump  of  thick  balsam 
firs  near  the  edge  of  the  good  ground.  In  the  heart 
of  the  thicket  she  lay  down  for  the  night,  facing 
away  from  the  wind ;  and  the  calf,  quick  in  percep- 
tion as  in  growth,  lay  down  close  beside  her  in  the 
same  position.  He  did  not  know  at  the  time  the 
significance  of  the  position,  but  he  had  a  vague  sense 
of  its  importance.  He  was  afterward  to  learn  that 
enemies  were  liable  to  approach  his  lair  in  the  night, 
and  that  as  long  as  he  slept  with  his  back  to  the 


"THE   CALF    STOOD    CLOSE    BY,    WATCHING   WITH    INTEREST." 


TTbe  1fcfn0  of  rbe  /I&amosefcel        295 

wind,  he  could  not  be  taken  unawares.  The  wind 
might  be  trusted  to  bring  to  his  marvellous  nostrils 
timely  notice  of  danger  from  the  rear;  while  he 
could  depend  upon  his  eyes  and  his  spacious,  sensi- 
tive, unsleeping  ears  to  warn  him  of  anything  as- 
cending against  the  wind  to  attack  him  in  front. 

At  the  very  first  suggestion  of  morning  the  two 
ight  sleepers  arose.     In  the  dusk  of  the  fir  thicket 
e  hungry  calf  made  his  meal.     Then  they  came 
orth  into  the  grayness  of  the  spectral  spring  dawn, 
nd  the  great  cow  proceeded  as  before  to  breast 
own  a  birch  sapling  for  fodder.     Before  the  sun 
was  fairly  up,  they  left  the  glade  and  resumed  their 
journey  across  the  swamp. 

It  was  mid-morning  of  a  sweet-aired,  radiant 
day  when  they  emerged  from  the  swamp.  Now, 
through  a  diversified  country  of  thick  forests  and 
open  levels,  the  mother  moose  swung  forward  on  an 
undeviating  trail,  perceptible  only  to  herself.  Pres- 
ently the  land  began  to  dip.  Then  a  little  river 
appeared,  winding  through  innumerable  alders,  with 
here  and  there  a  pond-like  expansion  full  of  young 
lily-leaves;  and  the  future  king  of  the  Mamozekel 
looked  upon  his  kingdom.  But  he  did  not  recognise 
it.  He  cared  nothing  for  the  little  river  of  alders. 
He  was  tired,  and  very  hungry,  and  the  moment 
his  mother  halted  he  ran  up  and  nursed  vehemently. 


296          tlbe  Htn&re&  of  tbe  Wfifc 

ii. 

Delicately  filming  with  the  first  green,  and  spicy- 
fragrant,  were  the  young  birch-trees  on  the  slopes 
about  the  Mamozekel  water.  From  tree-top  to 
tree-top,  across  the  open  spaces,  the  rain-birds  called 
to  each  other  with  long  falls  of  melody  and  sweetly 
insistent  iteration.  In  their  intervals  of  stillness, 
which  came  from  time  to  time  as  if  by  some  secret 
and  preconcerted  signal,  the  hush  was  beaded,  as 
it  were,  with  the  tender  and  leisurely  staccatos  of 
the  chickadees.  The  wild  kindreds  of  the  Tobique 
country  were  all  happily  busy  with  affairs  of  spring. 

While  the  great  cow  was  pasturing  on  birch- 
twigs,  the  calf  rested,  with  long  legs  tucked  under 
him,  on  the  dry,  softly  carpeted  earth  beneath  the 
branches  of  a  hemlock.  At  this  pleasant  pasturage 
the  mother  moose  was  presently  joined  by  her  calf 
of  the  previous  season,  a  sturdy  bull-yearling,  which 
ran  up  to  her  with  a  pathetic  little  bleat  of  delight, 
as  if  he  had  been  very  desolate  and  bewildered 
during  the  days  of  her  strange  absence.  The 
mother  received  him  with  good-natured  indifference, 
and  went  on  pulling  birch-tips.  Then  the  yearling 
came  over  and  eyed  with  curiosity  the  resting  calf, 
—  the  first  moose-calf  he  had  ever  seen.  The  king, 


Ube  1fcfn0  of  tbe  /iDamosefeei        297 

unperturbed  and  not  troubling  himself  to  rise, 
thrust  forward  his  spacious  ears,  and  reached  out 
a  long  inquiring  nose  to  investigate  the  newcomer. 
But  the  yearling  was  in  doubt.  He  drew  back, 
planted  his  fore  hoofs  firmly,  and  lowered  and 
shook  his  head,  challenging  the  stranger  to  a  butting 
bout.  The  old  moose,  which  had  kept  wary  eye  upon 
the  meeting,  now  came  up  and  stood  over  her  young, 
touching  him  once  or  twice  lightly  with  her  upper 
lip.  Then,  swinging  her  great  head  to  one  side,  she 
glanced  at  the  yearling,  and  made  a  soft  sound  in 
her  throat.  Whether  this  were  warning  or  mere  per- 
tinent information,  the  yearling  understood  that  his 
smaller  kinsman  was  to  be  let  alone,  and  not  troub- 
led with  challenges.  With  easy  philosophy,  he 
accepted  the  situation,  doubtless  not  concerned  to 
understand  it,  and  turned  his  thoughts  to  the  ever 
fresh  theme  of  forage. 

Through  the  spring  and  summer  the  little  family 
of  three  fed  never  far  from  the  Mamozekel  stream ; 
and  the  king  grew  with  astonishing  speed.  Of 
other  moose  families  they  saw  little,  for  the  mother, 
jealous  and  overbearing  in  her  strength,  would  tol- 
erate no  other  cows  on  her  favourite  range.  Some- 
times they  saw  a  tall  bull,  with  naked  forehead, 
come  down  to  drink  or  to  pull  lily-stems  in  the 


298          Ube  1fcfn&^  of  tbe 

still  pools  at  sunset.  But  the  bull,  feeling  him- 
self discrowned  and  unlordly  in  the  absence  of  his 
antlers,  paid  no  attention  to  either  cows  or  calves. 
While  waiting  for  autumn  to  restore  to  his  forehead 
its  superb  palmated  adornments,  he  was  haughty 
and  seclusive. 

By  the  time  summer  was  well  established  in  the 
land,  the  moose-calf  had  begun  to  occupy  himself 
diligently  with  the  primer-lessons  of  life.  Keeping 
much  at  his  mother's  head,  he  soon  learned  to  pluck 
the  tops  of  tall  seeding  grasses;  though  such  low- 
growing  tender  herbage  as  cattle  and  horses  love, 
he  never  learned  to  crop.  His  mother,  like  all  his 
tribe,  was  too  long  in  the  legs  and  short  in  the  neck 
to  pasture  close  to  the  ground.  He  was  early  taught, 
however,  what  succulent  pasturage  of  root  and  stem 
and  leaf  the  pools  of  Mamozekel  could  supply;  and 
early  his  sensitive  upper  lip  acquired  the  wisdom 
to  discriminate  between  the  wholesome  water-plants 
and  such  acrid,  unfriendly  growths  as  the  water- 
parsnip  and  the  spotted  cowbane.  Most  pleasant 
the  little  family  found  it,  in  the  hot,  drowsy  after- 
noons, to  wade  out  into  the  leafy  shallows  and 
feed  at  leisure  belly-deep  in  the  cool,  with  no  sound 
save  their  own  comfortable  splashings,  or  the  shrill 
clatter  of  a  kingfisher  winging  past  up-stream. 


of  tbe  flDamo3efeel        299 

Their  usual  feeding  hours  were  just  before  sunrise, 
a  little  before  noon,  and  again  in  the  late  afternoon, 
till  dark.  The  rest  of  the  time  they  would  lie  hidden 
in  the  deepest  thickets,  safe,  but  ever  watchful,  their 
great  ears  taking  in  and  interpreting  all  the  myriad 
fluctuating  noises  of  the  wilderness. 

The  hours  of  foraging  were  also  —  for  the 
young  king,  in  particular,  whose  food  was  mostly 
provided  by  his  mother  —  the  hours  of  lesson  and 
the  hours  of  play.  In  the  pride  of  his  growing 
strength  he  quickly  developed  a  tendency  to  butt 
at  everything  and  test  his  prowess.  His  yearling 
brother  was  always  ready  to  meet  his  desires  in  this 
fashion,  and  the  two  would  push  against  each  other 
with  much  grunting,  till  at  last  the  elder,  growing 
impatient,  would  thrust  the  king  hard  back  upon  his 
haunches,  and  turn  aside  indifferently  to  his  brows- 
ing. Little  by  little  it  became  more  difficult  for  the 
yearling  to  close  the  bout  in  this  easy  way;  but 
he  never  guessed  that  in  no  distant  day  the  contests 
would  end  in  a  very  different  manner.  He  did 
not  know  that,  for  a  calf  of  that  same  spring,  his 
lightly  tolerated  playfellow  was  big  and  strong 
and  audacious  beyond  all  wont  of  the  wide-antlered 
kindred. 

The  young  Icing  was  always  athrill  with  curiosity, 


300          Ube  Ifcfnbrefc  of  tbe  TKHU& 

full  of  interest  in  all  the  wilderness  folk  that 
chanced  to  come  in  his  view.  The  shyest  of  the 
furtive  creatures  were  careless  about  letting  him 
see  them,  both  his  childishness  and  his  race  being 
guarantee  of  good  will.  Very  soon,  therefore,  he 
became  acquainted,  in  a  distant,  uncomprehending 
fashion,  with  the  hare  and  the  mink,  the  wood- 
mouse  and  the  muskrat;  while  the  mother  mallard 
would  float  amid  her  brood  within  a  yard  or  two  of 
the  spot  where  he  was  pulling  at  the  water-lilies. 

One  day,  however,  he  came  suddenly  upon  a  por- 
cupine which  was  crossing  a  bit  of  open  ground,  — 
came  upon  it  so  suddenly  that  the  surly  little  beast 
was  startled  and  rolled  himself  up  into  a  round, 
bristling  ball.  This  was  a  strange  phenomenon 
indeed !  He  blew  upon  the  ball,  two  or  three  hard 
noisy  breaths  from  wide  nostrils.  Then  he  was 
so  rash  as  to  thrust  at  it,  tentatively  rather  than 
roughly,  with  his  inquisitive  nose,  —  for  he  was 
most  anxious  to  know  what  it  meant.  There  was 
a  quiver  in  the  ball ;  and  he  jumped  back,  shaking 
his  head,  with  two  of  the  sharp  spines  sticking  in 
his  sensitive  upper  lip. 

In  pain  and  fright,  yet  with  growing  anger,  he 
ran  to  his  mother  where  she  was  placidly  cropping 
a  willow-top.  But  she  was  not  helpful.  She  knew 


. 
"THE    MOTHER    MALLARD    WOULD   FLOAT    AMID    HER   BROOD." 


ZTbe  King  of  tbe  flDamojefcel       303 

nothing  of  the  properties  of  porcupine  quills.  See- 
ing what  was  the  matter,  she  set  the  example  of 
rubbing  her  nose  smartly  against  a  stump.  The 
king  did  likewise.  Now,  for  burrs,  this  would 
have  been  all  very  well ;  but  porcupine  quills  —  the 
malignant  little  intruders  throve  under  such  treat- 
ment, and  worked  their  way  more  deeply  into  the 
tender  tissues.  Smarting  and  furious,  the  young 
monarch  rushed  back  with  the  purpose  of  stamping 
that  treacherous  ball  of  spines  to  fragments  under 
his  sharp  hoofs.  But  the  porcupine,  meanwhile, 
had  discreetly  climbed  a  tree,  whence  it  looked 
down  with  scornful  red  eyes,  bristling  its  barbed 
armory,  and  daring  the  angry  calf  to  come  up  and 
fight.  For  days  thereafter  the  young  king  suffered 
from  a  nose  so  hot  and  swollen  that  it  was  hard 
for  him  to  browse,  and  almost  impossible  for  him 
to  nurse.  Then  came  relief,  as  the  quills  worked 
their  way  through,  one  dropping  out,  and  the  other 
getting  chewed  up  with  a  lily-root.  But  the  young 
moose  never  forgot  his  grudge  against  the  porcu- 
pine family;  and  catching  one,  years  after,  in  a 
poplar  sapling,  he  bore  the  sapling  down  and  trod 
his  enemy  to  bits.  In  his  wrath,  however,  he  did 
not  forget  the  powers  and  properties  of  the  quills. 
He  took  good  care  that  none  should  pierce  the 
tender  places  of  his  feet. 


304          Ube  lUnt>re&  of  tbe 

Some  weeks  after  his  meeting  with  the  porcupine, 
when  his  nose  and  his  spirits  together  had  quite 
recovered,  he  made  a  new  acquaintance.  The  moose 
family  had  by  this  time  worked  much  farther  up 
the  Mamozekel,  into  a  region  of  broken  ground,  and 
steep  up-thrusts  of  rock.  One  day,  while  investi- 
gating the  world  at  a  little  distance  from  his  mother 
and  brother,  he  saw  a  large,  curious-looking  animal 
at  the  top  of  a  rocky  slope.  It  was  a  light  brown- 
gray  in  colour,  with  a  big,  round  face,  high-tufted 
ears,  round,  light,  cold  eyes,  long  whiskers  brushed 
back  from  under  its  chin,  very  long,  sharp  teeth 
displayed  in  its  snarlingly  open  jaws,  and  big  round 
pads  of  feet.  The  lynx  glared  at  the  young  king, 
scornfully  unacquainted  with  his  kingship.  And  the 
young  king  stared  at  the  lynx  with  lively,  unhostile 
interest.  Then  the  lynx  cast  a  wary  glance  all 
about,  saw  no  sign  of  the  mother  moose  (who  was 
feeding  on  the  other  side  of  the  rock),  concluded 
that  this  was  such  an  opportunity  as  he  had  long 
been  looking  for,  and  began  creeping  swiftly, 
stealthily,  noiselessly,  down  the  slope  of  rocks. 

Any  other  moose-calf,  though  of  thrice  the  young 
king's  months,  would  have  run  away.  But  not  so 
he.  The  stranger  seemed  unfriendly.  He  would 
try  a  bout  of  butting  with  him.  He  stamped  his 


ttbe  Ifcfna  ot  tbe  /l&amosefcel        305 

feet,  shook  his  lowered  head,  snorted,  and  advanced 
a  stride  or  two.  At  the  same  time,  he  uttered  a 
harsh,  very  abrupt,  bleating  cry  of  defiance,  the 
infantile  precursor  of  what  his  mighty,  forest- 
daunting  bellow  was  to  be  in  later  years.  The  lynx, 
though  he  well  knew  that  this  ungainly  youngster 
could  not  withstand  his  onslaught  for  a  moment, 
was  nevertheless  astonished  by  such  a  display  of 
spirit;  and  he  paused  for  a  moment  to  consider 
it.  Was  it  possible  that  unguessed  resources  lay 
behind  this  daring?  He  would  see. 

It  was  a  critical  moment.  A  very  few  words 
more  would  have  sufficed  for  the  conclusion  of  this 
chronicle,  but  for  the  fact  that  the  young  king's 
bleat  of  challenge  had  reached  other  ears  than  those 
of  the  great  lynx.  The  old  moose,  at  her  pasturing 
behind  the  rock,  heard  it  too.  Startled  and  anxious, 
she  came  with  a  rush  to  find  out  what  it  meant ;  and 
the  yearling,  full  of  curiosity,  came  at  her  heels. 
When  she  saw  the  lynx,  the  long  hair  on  her  neck 
stood  up  with  fury,  and  with  a  roar  she  launched 
her  huge,  dark  bulk  against  him.  But  for  such  an 
encounter  the  big  cat  had  no  stomach.  He  knew 
that  he  would  be  pounded  into  paste  in  half  a  minute. 
With  a  snarl,  he  sprang  backward,  as  if  his  muscles 
had  been  steel  springs  suddenly  loosed;  and  before 


306          ube  fUufcrefc  of  tbe  IKHiU) 

his  assailant  was  half-way  up  the  slope,  he  was 
glaring  down  upon  her  from  the  safe  height  of 
a  hemlock  limb. 

This,  to  the  young  king,  seemed  a  personal  vic- 
tory. The  mother's  efforts  to  make  him  understand 
that  lynxes  were  dangerous  had  small  effect  upon 
him;  and  the  experience  advanced  him  not  at  all 
in  his  hitherto  unlearned  lesson  of  fear. 

Even  he,  however,  for  all  his  kingly  heart,  was 
destined  to  learn  that  lesson,  —  was  destined  to 
have  it  so  seared  into  his  spirit  that  the  remem- 
brance should,  from  time  to  time,  unnerve,  humili- 
ate, defeat  him,  through  half  the  years  of  his 
sovereignty. 

It  came  about  in  this  way,  one  blazing  August 
afternoon. 

The  old  moose  and  the  yearling  were  at  rest, 
comfortably  chewing  the  cud  in  a  spruce  covert 
close  to  the  water.  But  the  king  was  in  one  of 
those  restless  fits  which,  all  through  his  calfhood, 
kept  driving  him  forward  in  quest  of  experience. 
The  wind  was  almost  still;  but  such  as  there  was 
blew  up  stream.  Up  against  it  he  wandered  for 
a  little  way,  and  saw  nothing  but  a  woodchuck, 
which  was  a  familiar  sight  to  him.  Then  he  turned 
and  drifted  carelessly  down  the  wind.  Having 


TTbe  itino  of  tbe  flDamosefeel        307 

passed  the  spruce  thicket,  his  nostrils  received  mes- 
sages from  his  mother  and  brother  in  their  quiet  con- 
cealment. The  scent  was  companion  to  him,  and  he 
wandered  on.  Presently  it  faded  away  from  the 
faintly  pulsing  air.  Still  he  went  on. 

Presently  he  passed  a  huge,  half-decayed  wind- 
fall, thickly  draped  in  shrubbery  and  vines.  No 
sooner  had  he  passed  than  the  wind  brought  him 
from  this  dense  hiding-place  a  pungent,  unfamiliar 
scent.  There  was  something  ominous  in  the  smell, 
something  at  which  his  heart  beat  faster;  but  he 
was  not  afraid.  He  stopped  at  once,  and  moved 
back  slowly  toward  the  windfall,  sniffing  with 
curiosity,  his  ears  alert,  his  eyes  striving  to  pierce 
the  mysteries  of  the  thicket. 

He  moved  close  by  the  decaying  trunk  without 
solving  the  enigma.  Then,  as  the  wind  puffed  a 
thought  more  strongly,  he  passed  by  and  lost  the 
scent.  At  once  he  swung  about  to  pursue  the 
investigation;  and  at  the  same  instant  an  intuitive 
apprehension  of  peril  made  him  shudder,  and  shrink 
away  from  the  windfall. 

He  turned  not  an  instant  too  soon.  What  he 
saw  was  a  huge,  black,  furry  head  and  shoulders 
leaning  over  the  windfall,  a  huge  black  paw,  with 
knife-like  claws,  lifting  for  a  blow  that  would  break 


308          Ube  Ikinfcrefc  of  tbe 

his  back  like  a  bulrush.  He  was  already  moving, 
already  turning,  and  with  his  muscles  gathered. 
That  saved  him.  Quick  as  a  flash  of  light  he 
sprang,  wildly.  Just  as  quickly,  indeed,  came  down 
the  stroke  of  those  terrific  claws.  But  they  fell 
short  of  their  intended  mark.  As  the  young  moose 
sprang  into  the  air,  the  claws  caught  him  slantingly 
on  the  haunch.  They  went  deep,  ripping  hide  and 
flesh  almost  to  the  bone,  —  a  long,  hideous  wound. 
Before  the  blow  could  be  repeated,  the  calf  was 
far  out  of  reach,  bleating  with  pain  and  terror.  The 
bear,  much  disappointed,  peered  after  him  with  little 
red,  malicious  eyes,  and  greedily  licked  the  sweet 
blood  from  his  claws. 

The  next  instant  the  mother  moose  burst  from  her 
thicket,  the  long  hair  of  her  neck  and  shoulders 
stiffly  erect  with  rage.  She  had  understood  -well 
enough  that  agonised  cry  of  the  young  king.  She 
paused  but  a  second,  to  give  him  a  hasty  lick  of 
reassurance,  then  charged  down  upon  the  covert 
around  the  windfall.  She  knew  that  only  a  bear 
could  have  done  that  injury;  and  she  knew,  without 
any  help  from  ears,  eyes,  or  nose,  that  the  windfall 
was  just  the  place  for  a  bear's  lying-in-wait.  With 
an  intrepidity  beyond  the  boldest  dreams  of  any 
other  moose-cow  on  the  Mamozekel  she  launched 
herself  crashing  into  the  covert. 


BUT    THEY    FELL    SHORT    OF    THEIR    INTENDED    MARK.' 


ZTfoe  1fcin0  of  tbe  /Ifcamosefeel        3" 

But  her  avenging  fury  found  no  bear  to  meet 
it.  The  bear  knew  well  this  mighty  moose-cow, 
having  watched  her  from  many  a  hiding-place,  and 
shrewdly  estimated  her  prowess.  He  had  effaced 
himself,  melting  away  through  the  underwood  as 
noiselessly  and  swiftly  as  a  weasel.  Plenty  of 
the  strong  bear  scent  the  old  moose  found  in  the 
covert,  and  it  stung  her  to  frenzy.  She  stamped 
and  tore  down  the  vines,  and  sent  the  rotten  wood 
of  the  windfall  flying  in  fragments.  Then  she 
lerged,  powdered  with  debris,  and  roared  and 
glared  about  for  the  enemy.  But  the  wily  bear  was 
ilready  far  away,  well  burdened  with  discretion. 

in. 

In  a  few  weeks  the  king's  healthy  flesh,  assidu- 
msly  licked  by  his  mother,  healed  perfectly,  leaving 
long,  hairless  scars  upon  his  hide,  which  turned, 
in  course  of  time,  from  livid  to  a  leaden  whitish  hue. 
>ut  while  his  flesh  healed  perfectly,  his  spirit  was 
in  a  different  case.  Thenceforward,  one  great  fear 
lurked  in  his  heart,  ready  to  leap  forth  at  any 
instant  —  the  fear  of  the  bear.  It  was  the  only 
fear  he  knew,  but  it  was  a  terrible  one ;  and  when, 
two  months  later,  he  again  caught  that  pungent 
scent  in  passing  a  thicket,  he  ran  madly  for  an  hour 


312          Ube  Ifciufcrefc  of  tbe  Wtlfc 

before  he  recovered  his  wits  and  stole  back,  humili- 
ated and  exhausted,  to  his  mother's  pasture-grounds. 

In  the  main,  however,  he  was  soon  his  old,  bold, 
investigating  self,  his  bulk  and  his  sagacity  growing 
vastly  together.  Ere  the  first  frosts  had  crimsoned 
the  maples  and  touched  the  birches  to  a  shimmer  of 
pale  gold,  he  could  almost  hold  his  own  by  sheer 
strength  against  his  yearling  brother's  weight,  and 
sometimes,  for  a  minute  or  two,  worst  him  by  feint 
and  strategy.  When  he  came,  by  chance,  in  the 
crisp,  free-roving  weather  of  the  fall,  upon  other 
moose-calves  of  that  year's  birth,  they  seemed 
pygmies  beside  him,  and  gave  way  to  him  respect- 
fully as  to  a  yearling. 

About  this  time  he  experienced  certain  qualms  of 
loneliness,  which  bewildered  him  and  took  much 
of  the  interest  out  of  life.  His  mother  began  to 
betray  an  unexpected  indifference,  and  his  childish 
heart  missed  her  caresses.  He  was  not  driven  away, 
but  he  was  left  to  himself;  while  she  would  stride 
up  and  down  the  open,  gravelly  meadows  by  the 
water,  sniffing  the  air,  and  at  times  uttering  a 
short,  harsh  roar  which  made  him  eye  her  uneasily. 
One  crisp  night,  when  the  round  October  moon 
wrought  magic  in  the  wilderness,  he  heard  his 
mother's  call  answered  by  a  terrific,  roaring  bellow, 


Ube  frtn0  of  tbe  /l&amosefcel        3*3 

which  made  his  heart  leap.  Then  there  was  a  crash- 
ing through  the  underbrush;  and  a  tall  bull  strode 
forth  into  the  light,  his  antlers  spreading  like  oak 
branches  from  either  side  of  his  forehead.  Pru- 
dence, or  deference,  or  a  mixture  of  the  two,  led 
the  young  king  to  lay  aside  his  wonted  inquisitive- 
ness  and  withdraw  into  the  thickets  without  attract- 
ing the  notice  of  this  splendid  and  formidable  visi- 
tor. During  the  next  few  days  he  saw  the  big  bull 
very  frequently,  and  found  himself  calmly  ignored. 
Prudence  and  deference  continued  their  good  offices, 
however,  and  he  was  careful  not  to  trespass  on  the 
big  stranger's  tolerance  during  those  wild,  mad, 
magical  autumn  days. 

One  night,  about  the  middle  of  October,  the  king 
saw  from  his  thicket  a  scene  which  filled  him  with 
excitement  and  awe,  swelled  his  veins  almost  to 
bursting,  and  made  his  brows  ache,  as  if  the  antlers 
were  already  pushing  to  birth  beneath  the  skin.  It 
all  came  about  in  this  fashion.  His  mother,  stand- 
ing out  in  the  moonlight  by  the  water,  had  twice 
with  outstretched  muzzle  uttered  her  call,  when  it 
was  answered  not  only  by  her  mate,  the  tall  bull, 
approaching  along  the  shore,  but  by  another  great 
voice  from  up  the  hillside.  Instantly  the  tall  bull 
was  in  a  rage.  He  rushed  up  to  the  cow,  touched 


Ube  Ifciufcrefc  of  tbe 

her  with  his  nose,  and  then,  after  a  succession  of 
roars  which  were  answered  promptly  from  the  hill- 
side, he  moved  over  to  the  edge  of  the  open  and 
began  thrashing  the  bushes  with  his  antlers.  A 
great  crashing  of  underbrush  arose  some  distance 
away,  and  drew  near  swiftly ;  and  in  a  few  minutes 
another  bull  burst  forth  violently  into  the  open. 
He  was  young  and  impetuous,  or  he  would  have 
halted  a  moment  before  leaving  cover,  and  stealthily 
surveyed  the  situation.  But  not  yet  had  years  and 
overthrows  taught  him  the  ripe  moose  wisdom ;  and 
with  a  reckless  heart  he  committed  himself  to  the 
combat. 

The  newcomer  had  barely  the  chance  to  see 
where  he  was,  before  the  tall  bull  was  upon  him. 
He  wheeled  in  time,  however,  and  got  his  guard 
down;  but  was  borne  back  upon  his  haunches  by 
the  terrific  shock  of  the  charge.  In  a  moment  or 
two  he  recovered  the  lost  ground,  for  youth  had 
given  him  strength,  if  not  wisdom;  and  the  tall 
bull,  his  eyes  flame-red  with  wrath,  found  himself 
fairly  matched  by  this  shorter,  stockier  antagonist. 

The  night  forthwith  became  tempestuous  with 
gruntings,  bellowings,  the  hard  clashing  of  antlers, 
the  stamping  of  swift  and  heavy  feet.  The  thin 
turf  was  torn  up.  The  earthy  gravel  was  sent  flying 


Ube  fdns  of  tbe  /feamo3eftel       3*5 


from  the  furious  hoofs.  From  his  covert  the  young 
king  strained  eager  eyes  upon  the  fight,  his  sympa- 
thies all  with  the  tall  bull  whom  he  had  regarded 
reverently  from  the  first  moment  he  saw  him.  But 
as  for  the  cow,  she  moved  up  from  the  waterside 
and  looked  on  with  a  fine  impartiality.  What  con- 
cerned her  was  chiefly  that  none  but  the  bravest 
and  strongest  should  be  her  mate,  —  a  question 
which  only  fighting  could  determine.  Her  favour 
would  go  with  victory. 

As  it  appeared,  the  rivals  were  fairly  matched 
in  vigour  and  valour.  But  among  moose,  as 
among  men,  brains  count  in  the  end.  When  the 
tall  bull  saw  that,  in  a  matter  of  sheer  brawn,  the 
sturdy  stranger  might  hold  him,  he  grew  disgusted 
at  the  idea  of  settling  such  a  vital  question  by  mere 
butting  and  shoving.  The  red  rage  faded  in  his 
eyes,  and  a  colder  light  took  its  place.  On  a  sudden, 
when  his  foe  had  given  a  mighty  thrust,  he  yielded, 
slipped  his  horns  from  the  lock,  and  jumped  nimbly 
aside.  The  stranger  lunged  forward,  almost  stum- 
bling to  his  knees. 

This  was  the  tall  bull's  opportunity.  In  a  whirl- 
wind of  fury  he  thrust  upon  the  enemy's  flank, 
goring  him,  and  bearing  him  down.  The  latter, 
being  short  and  quick-moving,  recovered  his  feet 


316          Ube  1fcfn&re&  of  tbe 

in  a  second,  and  wheeled  to  present  his  guard.  But 
the  tall  bull  was  quick  to  maintain  the  advantage. 
He,  too,  had  shifted  ground;  and  now  he  caught 
his  antagonist  in  the  rear.  There  was  no  resisting 
such  an  attack.  With  hind  legs  weakly  doubling 
under  him,  with  the  weight  of  doom  descending 
upon  his  defenceless  rump,  the  rash  stranger  was 
thrust  forward,  bellowing  madly,  and  striving  in 
vain  to  brace  himself.  His  humiliation  was  com- 
plete. With  staring  eyes  and  distended  nostrils  he 
was  hustled  across  the  meadow  and  over  the  edge 
of  the  bank.  With  a  huge  splash,  and  carrying  with 
him  a  shower  of  turf  and  gravel,  he  fell  into  the 
stream.  Once  in  the  water,  and  his  courage  well 
cooled,  he  did  not  wait  for  a  glance  at  his  snorting 
and  stamping  conqueror  on  the  bank  above,  but 
waded  desperately  across,  dripping,  bleeding, 
crushed  in  spirit,  —  and  vanished  into  the  woods. 
In  the  thicket,  the  king's  heart  swelled  as  if  the 
victory  had  been  his  own. 

By  and  by,  when  the  last  of  the  leaves  had  flut- 
tered down  with  crisp  whisperings  from  the  birch 
and  ash,  maple  and  poplar,  and  the  first  enduring 
snows  were  beginning  to  change  the  face  of  the 
world,  the  tall  bull  seemed  to  lay  aside  his  haughti- 
ness. He  grew  carelessly  good-natured  toward  the 


Ube  Iking  of  tbe  /lDant03efeei        3*7 

young  king  and  the  yearling,  and  frankly  took 
command  of  the  little  herd.  As  the  snow  deepened, 
he  led  the  way  northward  toward  the  Nictau  Lake 
and  chose  winter  quarters  on  the  wooded  southward 
slopes  of  Bald  Mountain,  where  there  were  hemlock 
groves  for  shelter  and  an  abundance  of  young  hard- 
wood growth  for  browsing. 

This  leisurely  migration  was  in  the  main  unevent- 
ful, and  left  but  one  sharp  impression  on  the  young 
king's  memory.  On  a  wintry  morning,  when  the 
sunrise  was  reaching  long  pink-saffron  ringers 
across  the  thin  snow,  a  puff  of  wind  brought  with 
it  from  a  tangle  of  stumps  and  rocks  a  breath  of 
that  pungent  scent  so  hateful  to  a  moose's  nostrils. 
The  whole  herd  stopped;  and  the  young  king,  his 
knees  quaking  under  him  and  his  eyes  staring  with 
panic,  crowded  close  against  his  mother's  flank. 
The  tall  bull  stamped  and  bellowed  his  defiance  to 
the  enemy,  —  but  the  enemy,  being  discreet,  made 
no  reply  whatever.  It  is  probable,  indeed,  that 
he  was  preparing  his  winter  quarters,  and  getting 
too  drowsy  to  hear  or  heed  the  angry  challenge; 
but  if  he  did  hear  it  no  doubt  he  noiselessly  with- 
drew himself  till  the  dangerous  travellers  had  gone 
by.  In  a  few  minutes  the  herd  resumed  its  march, 
—  the  king  keeping  close  to  his  mother's  side, 
instead  of  in  his  proper  place  in  the  line. 


ttbe  Ifcinbreb  of  tbe 

The  big-antlered  bull  now  chose  his  site  for  the 
"  yard,"  with  "  verge  and  room  enough  "  for  all 
contingencies.  The  "  yard  "  was  an  ample  acreage 
of  innumerable  winding  paths,  trodden  ever  deeper 
as  the  snows  accumulated.  These  paths  led  to  every 
spot  of  browse,  every  nook  of  shelter,  at  the  same 
time  twisting  and  crossing  in  a  maze  of  intricacies. 
Thick  piled  the  snows  about  the  little  herd,  and  the 
northern  gales  roared  over  the  hemlocks,  and  the 
frost  sealed  the  white  world  down  into  silence.  But 
it  was  such  a  winter  as  the  moose  kin  loved.  No 
wolves  or  hunters  came  to  trouble  them,  and  the 
months  passed  pleasantly.  When  the  days  were 
lengthening  and  the  hearts  of  all  the  wild  folk 
beginning  to  dream  of  the  yet  unsignalled  spring, 
the  young  king  was  astonished  to  see  the  great 
antlers  of  his  leader  fall  off.  Seeing  that  their 
owner  left  them  lying  unregarded  on  the  snow,  he 
went  up  and  sniffed  at  them  wonderingly,  and  pon- 
dered the  incident  long  and  vainly  in  his  heart. 

When  the  snows  shrank  away,  departing  with 
a  sound  of  many  waters,  and  spring  returned  to 
the  Tobique  country,  the  herd  broke  up.  First 
the  dis-antlered  bull  drifted  off  on  his  own  affairs. 
Then  the  two-year-old  went,  with  no  word  of  reason 
or  excuse.  Though  a  well-grown  young  bull,  he 


"THICK   PILED    THE    SNOWS    ABOUT    THE   LITTLE   HERD.' 


ZTbe  Ikins  of  tbe  flDamosefeel        321 

was  now  little  larger  or  heavier  than  the  king ;  and 
the  king  was  now  a  yearling,  with  the  stature  and 
presence  of  a  two-year-old.  In  a  playful  butting 
contest,  excited  by  the  joy  of  life  which  April  put 
into  their  veins,  he  worsted  his  elder  brother;  and 
this,  perhaps,  though  taken  in  good  part,  hastened 
the  latter's  going. 

A  few  days  later  the  old  cow  grew  restless.  She 
and  the  king  turned  their  steps  backward  toward 
the  Mamozekel,  feeding  as  they  went.  Soon  they 
found  themselves  in  their  old  haunts,  which  the 
king  remembered  very  well.  Then  one  day,  while 
the  king  slept  without  suspicion  of  evil,  the  old 
cow  slipped  away  stealthily,  and  sought  her  secret 
refuge  in  the  heart  of  the  cedar  swamp.  When 
thfc  king  awoke,  he  found  himself  alone  in  the 
thicket. 

All  that  day  he  was  most  unhappy.  For  some 
hours  he  could  not  eat,  but  strayed  hither  and 
thither,  questing  and  wondering.  Then,  when 
hunger  drove  him  to  browse  on  the  tender  birch- 
twigs,  he  would  stop  every  minute  or  two  to  call 
in  his  big,  gruff,  pathetic  bleat,  and  look  around 
eagerly  for  an  answer.  No  answer  came  from  the 
deserting  mother,  by  this  time  far  away  in  the 
swamp. 


322  ube  Ikin&refc  of  tbe 

But  there  were  ears  in  the  wilderness  that  heard 
and  heeded  the  call  of  the  desolate  yearling.  A 
pair  of  hunting  lynxes  paused  at  the  sound,  licked 
their  chops,  and  crept  forward  with  a  green  light 
in  their  wide,  round  eyes. 

Their  approach  was  noiseless  as  thought,  —  but 
the  king,  on  a  sudden,  felt  a  monition  of  their 
coming.  Whirling  sharply  about,  he  saw  them 
lurking  in  the  underbrush.  He  recognised  the 
breed.  This  was  the  same  kind  of  creature  which 
he  had  been  ready  to  challenge  in  his  first  calfhood. 
No  doubt,  it  would  have  been  more  prudent  for 
him  to  withdraw ;  but  he  was  in  no  mood  for  con- 
cession. His  sore  heart  made  him  ill-tempered. 
His  lonely  bleat  became  a  bellow  of  wrath.  He 
stamped  the  earth,  shook  his  head  as  if  thrashing 
the  underbrush  with  imaginary  antlers,  and  then 
charged  madly  upon  the  astonished  cats.  This  was 
no  ordinary  moose-calf,  they  promptly  decided ;  and 
in  a  second  they  were  speeding  away  with  great 
bounds,  gray  shadows  down  the  gray  vistas  of  the 
wood.  The  king  glared  after  them  for  a  mo- 
ment, and  then  went  back  to  his  feeding,  greatly 
comforted. 

It  was  four  days  before  his  mother  came  back, 
bringing  a  lank  calf  at  her  heels.  He  was  glad  to 


ifcina  of  tbe  /iDamosefeel        323 

see  her,  and  contentedly  renewed  the  companionship ; 
but  in  those  four  days  he  had  learned  full  self- 
reliance,  and  his  attitude  was  no  longer  that  of 
the  yearling  calf.  It  had  become  that  of  the  equal. 
As  for  the  lank  little  newcomer,  he  viewed  it  with 
careless  complaisance,  and  no  more  dreamed  of 
playing  with  it  than  if  it  had  been  a  frog  or  a 
chipmunk. 

The  summer  passed  with  little  more  event  for 
the  king  than  his  swift  increase  in  stature.  One 
lesson  then  learned,  however,  though  but  vaguely 
comprehended  at  the  time,  was  to  prove  of  incal- 
culable value  in  after  years.  He  learned  to  shun 
man,  —  not  with  fear,  indeed,  for  he  never  learned 
to  fear  anything  except  bears,  —  but  with  aversion, 
and  a  certain  half-disdainful  prudence.  It  was  as 
if  he  came  to  recognise  in  man  the  presence  of 
powers  which  he  was  not  anxious  to  put  to  trial, 
lest  he  should  be  forced  to  doubt  his  own  supremacy. 

It  was  but  a  slight  incident  that  gave  him  the 
beginning  of  this  valuable  wisdom.  As  he  lay  rumi- 
nating one  day  beside  his  mother  and  the  gaunt 
calf,  in  a  spruce  covert  near  the  water,  a  strange 
scent  was  wafted  in  to  his  nostrils.  It  carried  with 
it  a  subtle  warning.  His  mother  touched  him  with 
her  nose,  conveying  a  silent  yet  eloquent  monition, 


324          Ube  Ikfnbret)  of  tbe 

and  got  upon  her  feet  with  no  more  sound  than  if 
she  had  been  compact  of  thistle-down.  From  their 
thicket  shelter  the  three  stared  forth,  moveless  and 
unwinking,  ears  forward,  nostrils  wide.  Then  a 
canoe  with  two  men  came  into  view,  paddling  lazily, 
and  turning  to  land.  To  the  king,  they  looked  not 
dangerous ;  but  every  detail  of  them  —  their  shape, 
motion,  colour,  and,  above  all,  their  ominous  scent 
—  stamped  itself  in  his  memory.  Then,  to  his  great 
surprise,  his  mother  silently  signalled  the  gravest 
and  most  instant  menace,  and  forthwith  faded  back 
through  the  thicket  with  inconceivably  stealthy 
motion.  The  king  and  the  calf  followed  with  like 
care,  —  the  king,  though  perplexed,  having  faith 
in  his  mother's  wise  woodcraft.  Not  until  they  had 
put  good  miles  between  themselves  and  strange- 
smelling  newcomers  did  the  old  moose  call  a  halt; 
and  from  all  this  precaution  the  king  realised  that 
the  mysterious  strangers  were  something  to  be 
avoided  by  moose. 

That  summer  the  king  saw  nothing  more  of  the 
man-creatures,  —  and  he  crossed  the  scent  of  no 
more  bears.  His  great  heart,  therefore,  found  no 
check  to  its  growing  arrogance  and  courage.  When 
the  month  of  the  falling  leaves  and  ths  whirring 
partridge-coveys  again  came  round,  he  felt  a  new 


Iking  of  tbe  /iDamosefeel        325 

pugnacity  swelling  in  his  veins,  and  found  himself 
uttering  challenges,  he  knew  not  why,  with  his  yet 
half  infantile  bellow.  When,  at  length,  his  mother 
began  to  pace  the  open  meadow  by  the  Mamozekel, 
and  startle  the  moonlit  silences  with  her  mating 
call,  he  was  filled  with  strange  anger.  But  this 
was  nothing  to  his  rage  when  the  calls  were  an- 
swered by  a  wide-antlered  bull.  This  time  the  king 
fefused  to  slink  obsequiously  to  cover.  He  waited 
in  the  open;  and  he  eyed  the  new  wooer  in  a 
fashion  so  truculent  that  at  length  he  attracted 
notice. 

For  his  dignity,  if  not  for  his  experience,  this 
was  most  unfortunate.  The  antlered  stranger  noted 
his  size,  his  attitude  of  insolence,  and  promptly 
charged  upon  him.  He  met  the  charge,  in  his  insane 
audacity,  but  was  instantly  borne  down.  As  he 
staggered  to  his  feet  he  realised  his  folly,  and 
turned  to  withdraw,  —  not  in  terror,  but  in  ac- 
knowledgment of  superior  strength.  Such  a  dig- 
nified retreat,  however,  was  not  to  be  allowed  him. 
The  big  bull  fell  upon  him  again,  prodding  him 
cruelly.  He  was  hustled  ignominiously  across  the 
meadow,  and  into  the  bushes.  Thence  he  fled, 
bleating  with  impotent  wrath  and  shame. 

In  his  humiliation  he  fled  far  down  along  the  river, 


326          ube  Ifcfnfcrefc  of  tbe 

through  alder  swamps  which  he  had  never  traversed, 
by  pools  in  which  he  had  never  pulled  the  lilies. 
Onward  he  pressed,  intent  on  placing  irrevocably 
behind  him  the  scene  of  his  chagrin. 

At  length  he  came  out  upon  the  fair  river  basin 
where  the  Mamozekel,  the  Serpentine,  and  the 
Nictau,  tameless  streams,  unite  to  form  the  main 
Tobique.  Here  he  heard  the  call  of  a  young  cow, 
—  a  voice  thinner  and  higher  than  his  mother's 
deep-chested  notes.  With  an  impulse  which  he  did 
not  understand,  he  pushed  forward  to  answer  the 
summons,  no  longer  furtive,  but  noisily  trampling 
the  brush.  Just  then,  however,  a  pungent  smell 
stung  his  nostrils.  There,  not  ten  paces  distant,  was 
a  massive  black  shape  standing  out  in  the  moonlight. 
Panic  laid  grip  upon  his  heart,  chilling  every  vein. 
He  wheeled,  splashed  across  the  shallow  waters  of 
the  Nictau,  and  fled  away  northward  on  tireless  feet. 

That  winter  the  king  yarded  alone,  like  a  morose 
old  bull,  far  from  his  domain  of  the  Mamozekel. 
In  the  spring  he  came  back,  but  restricted  his  range 
to  the  neighbourhood  of  the  Forks.  And  he  saw 
his  mother  no  more. 

That  summer  he  grew  his  first  antlers.  As 
antlers,  indeed,  they  were  no  great  thing;  but 
they  started  out  bravely,  a  massive  cylindrical  bar 


Iking  of  tbe  /l&amosefeel        327 

thrusting  forth  laterally,  unlike  the  pointing  horns 
of  deer  and  caribou,  from  either  side  of  his  forehead. 
For  all  this  sturdy  start,  their  spiking  and  palmation 
did  not  amount  to  much;  but  he  was  inordinately 
proud  of  them,  rubbing  off  the  velvet  with  care 
when  it  began  to  itch,  and  polishing  assiduously  at 
the  hardened  horn.  By  the  time  the  October  moon 
had  come  round  again  to  the  Tobique  country,  he 
counted  these  first  antlers  a  weapon  for  any  en- 
counter ;  and,  indeed,  with  his  bulk  and  craft  behind 
them,  they  were  formidable. 

It  was  not  long  before  they  were  put  to  the  test. 
One  night,  as  he  stood  roaring  and  thrashing  the 
bushes  on  the  bluff  overlooking  the  Forks,  he  heard 
the  call  of  a  young  cow  a  little  way  down  the  shore. 
Gladly  he  answered.  Gladly  he  sped  to  the  tryst. 
Strange  ecstasies,  the  madness  of  the  night  spell,  and 
the  white  light's  sorcery  made  his  heart  beat  and 
his  veins  run  sweet  fire.  But  suddenly  all  this 
changed;  for  another  roar,  a  taunting  challenge, 
answered  him;  and  another  bull  broke  from  covert 
on  the  other  side  of  the  sandy  level  where  stood 
the  young  cow  coquettishly  eyeing  both  wooers. 

The  new  arrival  was  much  older  than  the  king, 
and  nobly  antlered;  but  in  matter  of  inches  the 
young  king  was  already  his  peer.  In  craft,  arro- 


328          Ube  IRiufcrefc  of  tbe  Wiifc 

gance,  and  self-confident  courage  the  king  had  an 
advantage  that  outweighed  the  deficiency  in  antlers. 
The  fury  of  his  charge  spelled  victory  from  the 
first;  and  though  the  battle  was  prolonged,  the 
issue  was  decided  at  the  outset,  as  the  interested 
young  cow  soon  perceived.  In  about  a  half-hour 
it  was  all  over.  The  wise  white  moon  of  the 
wilderness  looked  down  understandingly  upon  the 
furrowed  sandspit,  the  pleased  young  cow,  and  the 
king  making  diffident  progress  with  his  first  wooing. 
Some  distance  down  the  river-bank,  she  caught 
glimpses  of  the  other  bull,  whose  antlers  had  not 
saved  him,  fleeing  in  shame,  with  bleeding  flanks 
and  neck,  through  the  light-patched  shadows  of  the 
forest. 

IV. 

During  the  next  four  years  the  king  learned  to 
grow  such  antlers  as  had  never  before  been  seen  in  all 
the  Tobique  country.  So  tall,  impetuous,  and  mas- 
terful he  grew,  that  the  boldest  bulls,  recognising  the 
vast  reverberations  of  his  challenge,  would  smother 
their  wrath  and  slip  noiselessly  away  from  his  neigh- 
bourhood. Rumours  of  his  size  and  his  great  antlers 
in  some  way  got  abroad  among  the  settlements; 
but  so  crafty  was  he  in  shunning  men,  —  whom  he 


tEbe  iking  of  tbe  jflDamosefeel 

did  not  really  fear,  and  whom  he  was  wont  to 
study  intently  from  safe  coverts,  —  that  there  was 
never  a  hunter  who  could  boast  of  having  got  a 
shot  at  him. 

Once,  and  once  only,  did  he  come  into  actual, 
face  to  face  conflict  with  the  strange  man-creature. 
It  was  one  autumn  evening,  at  the  first  of  the 
season.  By  the  edge  of  a  little  lake,  he  heard  the 
call  of  a  cow.  Having  already  found  a  mate,  he 
was  somewhat  inattentive,  and  did  not  answer;  but 
something  strange  in  the  call  made  him  suspicious, 
and  he  stole  forward,  under  cover,  to  make  an 
observation.  The  call  was  repeated,  seeming  to 
come  from  a  little,  rushy  island,  a  stone's  throw 
from  shore.  This  time  there  came  an  answer,  — 
not  from  the  king,  but  from  an  eager  bull  rushing 
up  from  the  outlet  of  the  lake.  The  king  listened, 
with  some  lazy  interest,  to  the  crashing  and  slashing 
of  the  impetuous  approach,  thinking  that  if  the  visi- 
tor were  big  enough  to  be  worth  while  he  would 
presently  go  out  and  thrash  him.  When  the  visitor 
did  appear,  however,  bursting  from  the  underbrush 
and  striding  boldly  down  to  the  water's  edge,  a 
strange  thing  happened.  From  the  rushy  island 
came  a  spurt  of  flame,  a  sharp  detonating  report. 
The  bull  jumped  and  wheeled  in  his  tracks.  An- 


330          tlbe  Ikfnbreb  of  tbe 

other  report,  and  he  dropped  without  a  kick.  As 
he  lay  in  the  pale  light,  close  to  the  water,  a  canoe 
shot  out  from  the  rushy  island  and  landed  some  dis- 
tance from  the  body.  Two  men  sprang  out.  They 
pulled  up  the  canoe,  leaving  their  rifles  in  it,  and 
ran  up  to  skin  the  prize. 

The  king  in  his  hiding-place  understood.  This 
was  what  men  could  do,  —  make  a  strange,  menac- 
ing sound,  and  kill  moose  with  it.  He  boiled  with 
rage  at  this  exhibition  of  their  power,  and  suddenly 
took  up  the  quarrel  of  the  slain  bull.  But  by  no 
means  did  he  lay  aside  his  craft.  Noiselessly  he 
moved,  a  vast  and  furtive  shadow,  down  through 
the  thickets  to  a  point  where  the  underbrush  nearly 
touched  the  water.  This  brought  him  within  a  few 
yards  of  the  canoe,  wherein  the  hunters  had  left 
their  rifles.  Here  he  paused  a  few  moments,  pon- 
dering. But  as  he  pondered,  redder  and  redder 
grew  his  eyes;  and  suddenly,  with  a  mad  roar,  he 
burst  from  cover  and  charged. 

Had  the  two  men  not  been  expert  woodsmen, 
one  or  the  other  would  have  been  caught  and 
smashed  to  pulp.  But  their  .senses  were  on  the 
watch.  Cut  off  as  they  were  from  the  canoe  and 
from  their  weapons,  their  only  hope  was  a  tree. 
Before  the  king  was  fairly  out  into  view,  they  had 


Ube  1fcfn0  of  tbe  /l&amoaefeel        331 

understood  the  whole  situation,  sprung  to  their  feet, 
and  sped  off  like  hares.  Just  within  the  nearest 
fringe  of  bushes  grew  a  low-hanging  beech-tree; 
and  into  this  they  swung  themselves,  just  as  the 
king  came  raging  beneath.  As  it  was,  one  of  them 
was  nearly  caught  when  he  imagined  himself  quite 
safe.  The  king  reared  his  mighty  bulk  against 
the  trunk  and  with  his  keen-spiked  antlers  reached 
upward  fiercely  after  the  fugitives,  the  nearest  of 
whom  was  saved  only  by  a  friendly  branch  which 
intervened. 

For  nearly  an  hour  the  king  stamped  and  stormed 
beneath  the  branches,  while  the  trapped  hunters 
alternately  cursed  his  temper  and  wondered  at  his 
stature.  Then,  with  a  swift  change  of  purpose,  he 
wheeled  and  charged  on  the  canoe.  In  two  minutes 
the  graceful  craft  was  reduced  to  raw  material,  — 
while  the  hunters  in  the  tree-top,  sputtering  furi- 
ously, vowed  vengeance.  All  the  kit,  the  tins,  the 
blankets,  the  boxes,  were  battered  shapeless,  and  the 
rifles  thumped  well  down  into  the  wet  sand.  In 
the  midst  of  the  cataclysm,  one  of  the  rifles  somehow 
went  off.  The  noise  and  the  flash  astonished  the 
king,  but  only  added  to  his  rage  and  made  him  more 
thorough  in  his  work  of  destruction.  When  there 
was  nothing  left  that  seemed  worth  trampling  upon, 


332          tlbe  Tfctnfcret)  of  tbe 

he  returned  to  the  tree,  —  on  which  he  had  kept  eye 
all  the  time,  —  and  there  nursed  his  wrath  all  night. 
At  the  first  of  dawn,  however,  he  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  the  shivering  things  in  the  tree  were 
not  worth  waiting  for.  He  swung  off,  and  sought 
his  favourite  pasturage,  a  mile  or  two  away;  and 
the  men,  after  making  sure  of  his  departure,  climbed 
down.  They  nervously  cut  some  steaks  from  the 
bull  which  they  had  killed)  and  hurried  away,  crest- 
fallen, on  the  long  tramp  back  to  the  settlements. 

This  incident,  however,  did  not  have  the  effect 
which  it  might  have  been  expected  to  have.  It  did 
not  make  the  king  despise  men.  On  the  contrary, 
he  now  knew  them  to  be  dangerous,  and  he  also 
knew  that  their  chief  power  lay  in  the  long  dark 
tubes  which  spit  fire  and  made  fierce  sounds.  It 
was  enough  for  him  that  he  had  once  worsted  them. 
Ever  afterward  he  gave  them  wide  berth.  And  the 
tradition  of  him  would  have  come  at  last  to  be 
doubted  in  the  settlements,  but  for  the  vast,  shed 
antlers  occasionally  found  lying  on  the  diminished 
snows  of  March. 

But  all  the  time,  while  the  king  waxed  huge  and 
wise,  and  overthrew  his  enemies,  and  begot  great 
offspring  that,  for  many  years  after  he  was  dead, 
were  to  make  the  Mamozekel  famous,  there  was  one 


ttbe  Iking  of  tbe  jflDamosefeel        333 

grave  incompleteness  in  his  sovereignty.  His  old 
panic  fear  of  bears  still  shamed  and  harassed  him. 
The  whiff  of  a  harmless  half-grown  cub,  engrossed 
in  stuffing  its  greedy  red  mouth  with  blueberries, 
was  enough  to  turn  his  blood  to  water  and  send 
him  off  to  other  feeding-grounds.  He  chose  his 
ranges,  indeed,  first  of  all  for  their  freedom  from 
the  dreaded  taint,  and  only  second  for  the  excellence 
of  their  pasturage.  This  one  unreasoning  fear  was 
the  drop  of  gall  which  went  far  toward  embittering 
all  the  days  of  his  singularly  favoured  life.  It  was 
as  if  the  wood-gods,  after  endowing  him  so  far 
beyond  his  fellows,  had  repented  of  their  lavishness, 
and  capriciously  poisoned  their  gifts. 

One  autumn  night,  just  at  the  beginning  of  the 
calling  season,  this  weakness  of  his  betrayed  the 
king  to  the  deepest  humiliation  which  had  ever 
befallen  him.  He  was  then  nearly  seven  years  old ; 
and  because  his  voice  was  known  to  every  bull  in 
the  Tobique  country,  there  was  never  answer  made 
when  his  great  challenge  went  stridently  resounding 
over  the  moonlit  wastes.  But  on  this  particular 
night,  when  he  had  roared  perhaps  for  his  own 
amusement,  or  for  the  edification  of  his  mate  who 
browsed  near  by,  rather  than  with  any  expectation 
of  response,  to  his  astonishment  there  came  an  an- 


334          Ube  Tfcfn&refc  of  tbe 

swering  defiance  from  the  other  side  of  the  open. 
A  big,  wandering  bull,  who  had  strayed  up  from 
the  Grand  River  region,  had  never  heard  of  the 
king,  and  was  more  than  ready  to  put  his  valour 
to  test.  The  king  rushed  to  meet  him.  Now  it 
chanced  that  between  the  approaching  giants  was 
an  old  ash-tree  growing  out  of  a  thicket.  In  this 
thicket  a  bear  had  been  grubbing  for  roots.  When 
he  heard  the  king's  first  roar,  he  started  to  steal 
away  from  the  perilous  proximity;  but  the  second 
bull's  answer,  from  the  direction  in  which  he  had 
hoped  to  retreat,  stopped  him.  In  much  perturba- 
tion he  climbed  the  ash-tree  to  a  safe  distance,  and 
curled  himself  into  a  black,  furry  ball,  in  a  fork 
of  the  branches. 

The  night  was  still,  and  no  scents  wafting  to 
sensitive  nostrils.  With  short  roars,  and  much 
thrashing  of  the  underbrush,  the  two  bulls  drew 
near.  When  the  king  was  just  about  abreast  of 
the  bear's  hiding-place,  his  arrogance  broke  into 
fury,  and  he  charged  upon  the  audacious  stranger. 
Just  as  he  did  so,  and  just  as  his  foe  sprang  to 
meet  him,  a  wilful  night-wind  puffed  lightly  through 
the  branches.  It  was  a  very  small,  irresponsible 
wind;  but  it  carried  sharply  to  the  king's  nostrils 
the  strong,  fresh  taint  of  bear. 


tlbe  Iking  of  tbe  /Ibamosefeei        337 

The  smell  was  so  strong,  it  seemed  to  the  king 
as  if  the  bear  must  be  fairly  on  his  haunches.  It 
was  like  an  icy  cataract  flung  upon  him.  He  shrank, 
trembled,  —  and  the  old  wounds  twinged  and 
cringed.  The  next  moment,  to  the  triumphant 
amazement  of  his  antagonist,  he  had  wheeled  aside 
to  avoid  the  charge,  and  was  off  through  the  under- 
brush in  ignominious  flight.  The  newcomer,  who, 
for  all  his  stout-heartedness,  had  viewed  with  con- 
cern the  giant  bulk  of  his  foe,  stopped  short  in  his 
tracks  and  stared  in  bewilderment.  .So  easy  a  vic- 
tory as  this  was  beyond  his  dreams,  —  even  beyond 
his  desires.  However,  a  bull  moose  can  be  a  phi- 
losopher on  occasion,  and  this  one  was  not  going 
to  quarrel  with  good  luck.  In  high  elation  he  strode 
on  up  the  meadow,  and  set  himself,  not  unsuccess- 
fully, to  wooing  the  deserted  and  disgusted  cow. 

His  triumph,  however,  was  short-lived.  About 
moon-rise  of  the  following  night  the  king  came  back. 
He  was  no  longer  thinking  of  bears,  and  his  heart 
was  full  of  wrath.  His  vast  challenge  came  down 
from  the  near-by  hills,  making  the  night  resound 
with  its  short,  explosive  thunders.  His  approach 
was  accompanied  by  the  thrashing  of  giant  antlers 
oh  the  trees,  and  by  a  crashing  as  if  the  under- 
growths  were  being  trodden  by  a  locomotive.  There 


33*          tEbe  Ikfn&reb  of  tbe  Mtlb 

was  grim  omen  in  the  sounds ;  and  the  cow,  waving 
her  great  ears  back  and  forward  thoughtfully,  eyed 
the  Grand  River  bull  with  shrewd  interest.  The 
stranger  showed  himself  game,  no  whit  daunted 
by  threatenings  and  thunder.  He  answered  with 
brave  roarings,  and  manifested  every  resolution  to 
maintain  his  conquest.  But  sturdy  and  valorous 
though  he  was,  all  his  prowess  went  for  little  when 
the  king  fell  upon  him,  thrice  terrible  from  the 
memory  of  his  humiliation.  There  was  no  such 
thing  as  withstanding  that  awful  charge.  Before 
it  the  usurper  was  borne  back,  borne  down,  over- 
whelmed, as  if  he  had  been  no  more  than  a  yearling 
calf.  He  had  no  chance  to  recover.  He  was  tram- 
pled and  ripped  and  thrust  onward,  a  helpless  sprawl 
of  unstrung  legs  and  outstretched,  piteous  neck.  It 
was  luck  alone,  —  or  some  unwonted  kindness  of 
the  wood-spirits,  —  that  saved  his  life  from  being 
trodden  and  beaten  out  in  that  hour  of  terror.  It 
was  close  to  the  river-bank  that  he  had  made  his 
stand;  and  presently,  to  his  great  good  fortune, 
he  was  thrust  over  the  brink.  He  fell  into  the 
water  with  a  huge  splash.  When  he  struggled  to 
his  feet,  and  moved  off,  staggering,  down  the 
shallow  edges  of  the  stream,  the  king  looked  over 
and  disdained  to  follow  up  the  vengeance. 


ttbe  iking  of  tbe  dDamosefeei        339 

Fully  as  he  had  vindicated  himself,  the  king  was 
never  secure  against  such  a  humiliation  so  long  as 
he  rested  thrall  to  his  one  fear.  The  threat  of  the 
bear  hung  over  him,  a  mystery  of  terror  which 
he  could  not  bring  himself  to  face.  But  at  last,  and 
in  the  season  of  his  weakness,  when  he  had  shed 
his  antlers,  there  came  a  day  when  he  was  forced 
to  face  it.  Then  his  kingliness  was  put  to  the 
supreme  trial. 

He  was  now  at  the  age  of  nine  years,  in  the 
splendour  of  his  prime.  He  stood  over  seven  feet 
high  at  the  shoulders,  and  weighed  perhaps  thirteen 
hundred  pounds.  His  last  antlers,  those  which  he 
had  shed  two  months  before,  had  shown  a  gigantic 
spread  of  nearly  six  feet. 

It  was  late  April.  Much  honeycombed  snow  and 
ice  still  lingered  in  the  deeper  hollows.  After  a 
high  fashion  of  his  own,  seldom  followed  among 
the  moose  of  the  Tobique  region,  the  king  had  re- 
joined his  mate  when  she  emerged  from  her  spring 
retreat  with  a  calf  at  her  flank.  He  was  too  lordly 
in  spirit  to  feel  cast  down  or  discrowned  when  his 
head  was  shorn  of  its  great  ornament;  and  he 
never  felt  the  spring  moroseness  which  drives  most 
bull  moose  into  seclusion.  He  always  liked  to  keep 
his  little  herd  together,  was  tolerant  to  the  year- 


340          Ube  1tfn&re&  of  tbe 

lings,  and  even  refrained  from  driving  off  the 
two-year-olds  until  their  own  aggressiveness  made 
it  necessary. 

On  this  particular  April  day,  the  king  was  be- 
striding a  tall  poplar  sapling,  which  he  had  borne 
down  that  he  might  browse  upon  its  tender,  sap- 
swollen  tips.  By  the  water's  edge  the  cow  and  the 
yearling  were  foraging  on  the  young  willow  shoots, 
The  calf,  a  big-framed,  enterprising  youngster  two 
weeks  old,  almost  as  fine  a  specimen  of  young 
moosehood  as  the  king  had  been  at  his  age,  was 
poking  about  curiously  to  gather  knowledge  of 
the  wilderness  world.  He  approached  a  big  gray- 
white  boulder,  whose  base  was  shrouded  in  spruce 
scrub,  and  sniffed  apprehensively  at  a  curious,  pun- 
gent taint  that  came  stealing  out  upon  the  air. 

He  knew  by  intuition  that  there  was  peril  in 
that  strange  scent;  but  his  interest  overweighed  his 
caution,  and  he  drew  close  to  the  spruce  scrub. 
Close,  and  yet  closer;  and  his  movement  was  so 
unusual  that  it  attracted  the  attention  of  the  king, 
who  stopped  browsing  to  watch  him  intently.  A 
vague,  only  half-realised  memory  of  that  far-off 
day  when  he  himself,  a  lank  calf  of  the  season, 
went  sniffing  curiously  at  a  thicket,  stirred  in  his 
brain ;  and  the  stiff  hair  along  his  neck  and  shoulder 


of  tbe  flDamosefcei        341 

began  to  bristle.  He  released  the  poplar  sapling, 
and  turned  all  his  attention  to  the  behaviour  of  the 
calf. 

The  calf  was  very  close  to  the  green  edges  of 
the  spruce  scrub,  when  he  caught  sight  of  a  great 
dark  form  within,  which  had  revealed  itself  by  a 
faint  movement.  More  curious  than  ever,  but  now 
distinctly  alarmed,  he  shrank  back,  turning  at  the 
same  time,  as  if  to  investigate  from  another  and 
more  open  side  of  the  scrub. 

The  next  instant  a  black  bulk  lunged  forth  with 
incredible  swiftness  from  the  green,  and  a  great 
paw  swung  itself  with  a  circular,  sweeping  motion, 
upon  the  retreating  calf.  In  the  wilderness  world, 
as  in  the  world  of  men,  history  has  a  trick  of 
repeating  itself;  and  this  time,  as  on  that  day  nine 
years  before,  the  bear  was  just  too  late.  The  blow 
did  not  reach  its  object  till  most  of  its  force  was 
spent.  It  drew  blood,  and  knocked  the  calf  sprawl- 
ing, but  did  no  serious  damage.  With  a  bleat  of 
pain  and  terror,  the  little  animal  jumped  to  its 
feet  and  ran  away. 

The  bear  would  have  easily  caught  him  before 
he  could  recover  himself;  but  another  and  very 
different  voice  had  answered  the  bleat  of  the  calf. 
At  the  king's  roar  of  fury  the  bear  changed  his  plans 


342          Ube  Ikinfcrefc  of  tbe 

and  slunk  back  into  hiding.  In  a  moment  the  king 
came  thundering  up  to  the  edge  of  the  spruces. 
There,  planting  his  fore-feet  suddenly  till  they 
ploughed  the  ground,  he  stopped  himself  with  a 
mighty  effort.  The  smell  of  the  bear  had  smitten 
him  in  the  face. 

The  moment  was  a  crucial  one.  The  pause  was 
full  of  fate.  Turning  his  head  in  indecision,  he 
caught  a  cry  of  pain  from  the  calf  as  it  ran  to  its 
mother;  and  he  saw  the  blood  streaming  down  its 
flank.  Then  the  kingliness  of  his  heart  arose  vic- 
torious. With  a  roar,  he  breasted  trampling  into 
the  spruce  scrub,  heedless  at  last  of  the  dreaded 
scent. 

The  bear,  meanwhile,  had  been  seeking  escape. 
He  had  just  emerged  on  the  other  side  of  the  spruces, 
and  was  slipping  off  to  find  a  secure  tree.  As  the 
king  thundered  down  upon  him,  he  wheeled  with 
a  savage  growl,  half  squatted  back,  and  struck  out 
sturdily  with  that  redoubtable  paw.  But  at  the 
same  instant  the  king's  edged  hoofs  came  down  upon 
him  with  the  impact  of  a  battering  ram.  They 
smashed  in  his  ribs.  They  tore  open  his  side.  They 
hurled  him  over  so  that  his  belly  was  exposed.  He 
was  at  a  hopeless  disadvantage.  He  had  not  an 
instant  for  recovery.  Those  avenging  hoofs,  with 


*IT    WAS    FEAR   ITSELF   THAT    HE  WAS    WIPING    OUT." 


TTbe  Itfng  ot  tbe  jflDamo3efcel       345 

the  power  of  a  pile-driver  behind  them,  smote  like 
lightning.  The  bear  struck  savagely,  twice,  thrice; 
and  his  claws  tore  their  way  through  hide  and 
muscle  till  the  king's  blood  gushed  scarlet  over  his 
prostrate  foe's  dark  fur.  Then,  the  growls  and  the 
claw-strokes  ceased;  and  the  furry  shape  lay  still, 
outstretched,  unresisting. 

For  a  moment  or  two  the  king  drew  off,  and  eyed 
the  carcass.  Then  the  remembrance  of  all  his  past 
terror  and  shame  surged  hotly  through  him.  He 
pounced  again  upon  the  body,  and  pounded  it,  and 
trampled  it,  and  ground  it  down,  till  the  hideous 
mass  bore  no  longer  a  resemblance  to  any  thing  that 
ever  carried  the  breath  of  life.  It  was  not  his 
enemy  only,  not  only  the  assailant  of  the  helpless 
calf,  that  he  was  thus  completely  blotting  from  exis- 
tence, but  it  was  fear  itself  that  he  was  wiping 
out. 

At  last,  grown  suddenly  tired  of  rage,  and  some- 
what faint  from  the  red  draining  of  his  veins,  the 
king  turned  away  and  sought  his  frightened  herd. 
They  gathered  about  him,  trembling  with  excite- 
ment, —  the  light-coated  cow,  the  dark  yearling, 
the  lank,  terrified  calf.  They  stretched  thin  noses 
toward  him,  questioning,  wondering,  troubled  at 
his  hot,  streaming  wounds.  But  the  king  held  his 


346          ube  lttnt>re&  ot  tbe 

head  high,  heeding  neither  the  wounds  nor  the 
herd.  He  cast  one  long,  proud  look  up  the  valley 
of  the  Mamozekel,  his  immediate,  peculiar  domain. 
Then  he  looked  southward  over  the  lonely  Serpen- 
tine, northward  across  the  dark-wooded  Nictau,  and 
westward  down  the  flood  of  the  full,  united  stream. 
He  felt  himself  supreme  now  beyond  challenge  over 
all  the  wild  lands  of  Tobique. 

For  a  long  time  the  group  stood  so,  breathing 
at  last  quietly,  still  with  that  stillness  which  the 
furtive  kindreds  know.  There  was  no  sound  save 
the  soft,  ear-filling  roar  of  the  three  rivers,  swollen 
with  freshet,  rushing  gladly  to  their  confluence. 
The  sound  was  as  a  background  to  the  cool,  damp 
silence  of  the  April  wilderness.  Some  belated  snow 
in  a  shaded  hollow  close  at  hand  shrank  and  settled, 
with  a  hushed,  evasive  whisper.  Then  the  earliest 
white-throat,  from  the  top  of  a  fir-tree,  fluted  across 
the  pregnant  spring  solitudes  the  six  clear  notes  of 
his  musical  and  melancholy  call. 


Un  panoply  of  Speara 

HERE  was  a  pleasant  humming  all  about 
the  bee-tree,  where  it  stood  solitary  on  the 
little  knoll  upon  the  sunward  slope  of  the 
forest.  It  was  an  ancient  maple,  one  side  long  since 
blasted  by  lightning,  and  now  decayed  to  the  heart; 
while  the  other  side  yet  put  forth  a  green  bravery 
of  branch  and  leaf.  High  up  under  a  dead  limb  was 
a  hole,  thronged  about  with  diligent  bees  who  came 
and  went  in  long  diverging  streams  against  the  sun- 
steeped  blue.  A  mile  below,  around  the  little,  strag- 
gling backwoods  settlement,  the  buckwheat  was  in 
bloom;  and  the  bees  counted  the  longest  day  too 
short  for  the  gathering  of  its  brown  and  fragrant 
sweets. 

In  fine  contrast  to  their  bustle  and  their  haste  was 
a  moveless  dark  brown  figure  clinging  to  a  leafy 
branch  on  the  other  and  living  side  of  the  tree. 
From  a  distance  it  might  easily  have  been  taken  for 
a  big  bird's-nest.  Far  out  on  the  limb  it  sat,  huddled 
into  a  bristling  ball.  Its  nose,  its  whole  head  in- 

349 


35°          ^be  ftfnfcrefc  of  tbe  TKftilD 

deed,  were  hidden  between  its  fore  paws,  which 
childishly  but  tenaciously  clutched  at  a  little  upright 
branch.  In  this  position,  seemingly  so  precarious, 
but  really,  for  the  porcupine,  the  safest  and  most 
comfortable  that  could  be  imagined,  it  dozed  away 
the  idle  summer  hours. 

From  the  thick  woods  at  the  foot  of  the  knoll 
emerged  a  large  black  bear,  who  lifted  his  nose  and 
eyed  shrewdly  the  humming  streams  of  workers 
converging  at  the  hole  in  the  bee-tree.  For  some 
time  the  bear  stood  contemplative,  till  an  eager  light 
grew  in  his  small,  cunning,  half-humourous  eyes. 
His  long  red  tongue  came  out  and  licked  his  lips, 
as  he  thought  of  the  summer's  sweetness  now  stored 
in  the  hollow  tree.  He  knew  all  about  that  pros- 
perous bee  colony.  He  remembered  when,  two  years 
before,  the  runaway  swarm  from  the  settlement  had 
taken  possession  of  the  hole  in  the  old  maple.  That 
same  autumn  he  had  tried  to  rifle  the  treasure-house, 
but  had  found  the  wood  about  the  entrance  still  too 
sound  and  strong  for  even  such  powerfully  rending 
claws  as  his.  He  had  gone  away  surly  with  dis- 
appointment, to  scratch  a  few  angry  bees  out  of  his 
fur,  and  wait  for  the  natural  processes  of  decay  to 
weaken  the  walls  of  the  citadel. 

On  this  particular  day  he  decided  to  try  again. 


f  n 


of  Spears 


351 


He  had  no  expectation  that  he  would  succeed;  but 
the  thought  of  the  honey  grew  irresistible  to  him  as 
he  dwelt  upon  it.  He  lumbered  lazily  up  the  knoll, 
reared  his  dark  bulk  against  the  trunk,  and  started 
to  climb  to  the  attack. 

But  the  little  workers  in  the  high-set  hive  found 
an  unexpected  protector  in  this  hour  of  their  need. 
The  dozing  porcupine  woke  up,  and  took  it  into  his 
head  that  he  wanted  to  go  somewhere  else.  Per- 
haps in  his  dreams  a  vision  had  come  to  him  of 
the  lonely  little  oat-field  in  the  clearing,  where  the 
young  grain  was  plumping  out  and  already  full  of 
milky  sweetness.  As  a  rule  he  preferred  to  travel 
and  feed  by  night.  But  the  porcupine  is  the  last 
amid  the  wild  kindreds  to  let  convention  interfere 
with  impulse,  and  he  does  what  seems  good  to  the 
whim  of  the  moment.  His  present  whim  was  to 
descend  the  bee-tree  and  journey  over  to  the 
clearing. 

The  bear  had  climbed  but  seven  or  eight  feet, 
when  he  heard  the  scraping  of  claws  on  the  bark 
above.  He  heard  also  the  light  clattering  noise, 
unlike  any  other  sound  in  the  wilderness.  He  knew 
it  at  once  as  the  sound  of  the  loose-hung,  hollow 
quills  in  a  porcupine's  active  tail;  and  looking  up 
angrily,  he  saw  the  porcupine  curl  himself  down- 


as2          ^be  Ikinbreb  of  tbe 

ward  from  a  crotch  and  begin  descending  the  trunk 
to  meet  him. 

The  bear  weighed  perhaps  four  hundred  or  five 
hundred  pounds.  The  porcupine  weighed  perhaps 
twenty-five  pounds.  Nevertheless,  the  bear  stopped ; 
and  the  porcupine  came  on.  When  he  saw  the  bear, 
he  gnashed  his  teeth  irritably,  and  his  quills,  his 
wonderful  panoply  of  finely  barbed  spears,  erected 
themselves  all  over  his  body  till  his  usual  bulk 
seemed  doubled.  At  the  same  time  his  colour 
changed.  It  was  almost  as  if  he  had  grown  sud- 
denly pale  with  indignation;  for  when  the  long 
quills  stood  up  from  among  his  blackish-brown  fur 
they  showed  themselves  all  white  save  for  their 
dark  keen  points.  Small  as  he  was  in  comparison 
with  his  gigantic  opponent,  he  looked,  nevertheless, 
curiously  formidable.  He  grunted  and  grumbled 
querulously,  and  came  on  with  confidence,  obsti- 
nately proclaiming  that  no  mere  bear  should  for  a 
moment  divert  him  from  his  purpose. 

Whether  by  instinct,  experience,  or  observation, 
the  bear  knew  something  about  porcupines.  What 
would  honey  be  to  him,  with  two  or  three  of  those 
slender  and  biting  spear-points  embedded  in  his 
nose?  As  he  thought  of  it,  he  backed  away  with 
increasing  alacrity.  He  checked  a  rash  impulse 


"THE   BEAR   EYED    HIM    FOR   SOME   MOMENTS- 


1Fn  panoply  of  Spears  ass 

to  dash  the  arrogant  little  hinderer  from  the  tree 
and  annihilate  him  with  one  stroke  of  his  mighty 
paw,  —  but  the  mighty  paw  cringed,  winced,  and 
drew  back  impotent,  as  its  sensitive  nerves  consid- 
ered how  it  would  feel  to  be  stuck  full,  like  a  pin- 
cushion, with  inexorably  penetrating  points.  At 
last,  thoroughly  outfaced,  the  bear  descended  to 
the  ground,  and  stood  aside  respectfully  for  the 
porcupine  to  pass. 

The  porcupine,  however,  on  reaching  the  foot 
of  the  trunk,  discovered  an  uncertainty  in  his  mind. 
His  whim  wavered.  He  stopped,  scratched  his 
ears  thoughtfully  first  with  one  fore  paw  and  then 
with  the  other,  and  tried  his  long,  chisel-like  front 
teeth,  those  matchless  gnawing  machines,  on  a  pro- 
jecting edge  of  bark.  The  bear  eyed  him  for  some 
moments,  then  lumbered  off  into  the  woods  indiffer- 
ently, convinced  that  the  bee-tree  would  be  just  as 
interesting  on  some  other  day.  But  before  that 
other  day  came  around,  the  bear  encountered  Fate, 
lying  in  wait  for  him,  grim  and  implacable,  be- 
neath a  trapper's  deadfall  in  the  heart  of  the 
tamarack  swamp.  And  the  humming  tribes  in  the 
bee-tree  were  left  to  possess  their  honeyed  common- 
wealth in  peace. 

Soon  after  the  bear  had  left  the  knoll,  the  porcu- 


356          ttbe  1ttn&re&  of  tbe 

pine  appeared  to  make  up  his  mind  as  to  what  he 
wanted  to  do.  With  an  air  of  fixed  purpose  he 
started  down  the  knoll,  heading  for  the  oat-field 
and  the  clearing  which  lay  some  half-mile  distant 
through  the  woods.  As  he  moved  on  the  ground, 
he  was  a  somewhat  clumsy  and  wholly  grotesque 
figure.  He  walked  with  a  deliberate  and  precise  air, 
very  slowly,  and  his  legs  worked  as  if  the  earth 
were  to  them  an  unfamiliar  element.  He  was  about 
two  and  a  half  feet  long,  short-legged,  solid  and 
sturdy  looking,  with  a  nose  curiously  squared  off  so 
that  it  should  not  get  in  the  way  of  his  gnawing. 
As  he  confronted  you,  his  great  chisel  teeth,  bared 
and  conspicuous,  appeared  a  most  formidable 
weapon.  Effective  as  they  were,  however,  they  were 
not  a  weapon  which  he  was  apt  to  call  into  use, 
save  against  inanimate  and  edible  opponents;  be- 
cause he  could  not  do  so  without  exposing  his  weak 
points  to  attack,  —  his  nose,  his  head,  his  soft,  un- 
protected throat.  His  real  weapon  of  offence  was 
his  short,  thick  tail,  which  was  heavily  armed  with 
very  powerful  quills.  With  this  he  could  strike 
slashing  blows,  such  as  would  fill  an  enemy's  face 
or  paws  with  spines,  and  send  him  howling  from  the 
encounter.  Clumsy  and  inert  it  looked,  on  ordinary 
occasions ;  but  when  need  arose,  its  muscles  had  the 
lightning  action  of  a  strong  steel  spring. 


In  !>anopis  ot  Spears  357 

As  the  porcupine  made  his  resolute  way  through 
the  woods,  the  manner  of  his  going  differed  from 
that  of  all  the  other  kindreds  of  the  wild.  He  went 
not  furtively.  He  had  no  particular  objection  to 
making  a  noise.  He  did  not  consider  it  necessary 
to  stop  every  little  while,  stiffen  himself  to  a  mon- 
ument of  immobility,  cast  wary  glances  about  the 
gloom,  and  sniff  the  air  for  the  taint  of  enemies. 
He  did  not  care  who  knew  of  his  coming;  and  he 
did  not  greatly  care  who  came.  Behind  his  panoply 
of  biting  spears  he  felt  himself  secure,  and  in  that 
security  he  moved  as  if  he  held  in  fee  the  whole 
green,  shadowy,  perilous  woodland  world. 

A  wood-mouse,  sitting  in  the  door  of  his  burrow 
between  the  roots  of  an  ancient  fir-tree,  went  on 
washing  his  face  with  his  dainty  paws  as  the  por- 
cupine passed  within  three  feet  of  him.  Almost 
any  other  forest  traveller  would  have  sent  the  timid 
mouse  darting  to  the  depths  of  his  retreat;  but  he 
knew  that  the  slow-moving  figure,  however  terrible 
to  look  at,  had  no  concern  for  wood-mice.  The 
porcupine  had  barely  passed,  however,  when  a 
weasel  came  in  view.  In  a  flash  the  mouse  was 
gone,  to  lie  hidden  for  an  hour,  with  trembling 
heart,  in  the  furthest  darkness  of  his  burrow. 

Continuing   his    journey,    the   porcupine    passed 


tlbe  fdnfcrefc  of  tbe  WU& 

under  a  fallen  tree.  Along  the  horizontal  trunk  lay 
a  huge  lynx,  crouched  flat,  movelessly  watching 
for  rabbit,  chipmunk,  mink,  or  whatever  quarry 
might  come  within  his  reach.  He  was  hungry,  as 
a  lynx  is  apt  to  be.  He  licked  his  chaps,  and  his 
wide  eyes  paled  with  savage  fire,  as  the  porcupine 
dawdled  by  beneath  the  tree,  within  easy  clutch 
of  his  claws.  But  his  claws  made  no  least  motion 
of  attack.  He,  too,  like  the  bear,  knew  something 
about  porcupines.  In  a  few  moments,  however, 
when  the  porcupine  had  gone  on  some  ten  or  twelve 
feet  beyond  his  reach,  his  feelings  overcame  him  so 
completely  that  he  stood  up  and  gave  vent  to  an 
appalling  scream  of  rage.  All  the  other  wild  things 
within  hearing  trembled  at  the  sound,  and  were 
still;  and  the  porcupine,  startled  out  of  his  equi- 
poise, tucked  his  nose  between  his  legs,  and  bristled 
into  a  ball  of  sharp  defiance.  The  lynx  eyed  him 
venomously  for  some  seconds,  then  dropped  lightly 
from  the  perch,  and  stole  off  to  hunt  in  other  neigh- 
bourhoods, realising  that  his  reckless  outburst  of 
bad  temper  had  warned  all  the  coverts  for  a  quarter 
of  a  mile  around.  The  porcupine,  uncurling, 
grunted  scornfully  and  resumed  his  journey. 

Very  still,  and  lonely  and  bright  the  clearing  lay 
in  the  flooding  afternoon  sunshine.     It  lay  along 


flu  fcanopls  of  Spears  359 

beside  a  deeply  rutted,  grass-grown  backwoods  road 
which  had  been  long  forgotten  by  the  attentions  of 
the  road-master.  It  was  enclosed  from  the  forest 
in  part  by  a  dilapidated  wall  of  loose  stones,  in  part 
by  an  old  snake  fence,  much  patched  with  brush. 
The  cabin  which  had  once  presided  over  its  solitude 
had  long  fallen  to  ruin ;  but  its  fertile  soil  had  saved 
it  from  being  forgotten.  A  young  farmer-lumber- 
man from  the  settlement  a  couple  of  miles  away 
held  possession  of  it,  and  kept  its  boundaries  more 
or  less  intact,  and  made  it  yield  him  each  year  a 
crop  of  oats,  barley,  or  buckwheat. 

Emerging  from  the  woods,  the  porcupine  crawled 
to  the  top  of  the  stone  wall  and  glanced  about  him 
casually.  Then  he  descended  into  the  cool,  light- 
green  depths  of  the  growing  oats.  Here  he  was 
completely  hidden,  though  his  passage  was  indi- 
cated as  he  went  by  the  swaying  and  commotion 
among  the  oat-tops. 

The  high  plumes  of  the  grain,  of  course,  were  far 
above  the  porcupine's  reach ;  and  for  a  healthy  appe- 
tite like  his  it  would  have  been  tedious  work  indeed 
to  pull  down  the  stalks  one  by  one.  At  this  point,  he 
displayed  an  ingenious  resourcefulness  with  which 
he  is  seldom  credited  by  observers  of  his  kind.  Be- 
cause he  is  slow  in  movement,  folk  are  apt  to  con- 


360          tlbe  Ifcin&reb  of  tbe 

elude  that  he  is  slow  in  wit;  whereas  the  truth  is 
that  he  has  fine  reserves  of  shrewdness  to  fall  back 
on  in  emergency.  Instead  of  pulling  and  treading 
down  the  oats  at  haphazard,  he  moved  through  the 
grain  in  a  small  circle,  leaning  heavily  inward. 
When  he  had  thus  gone  around  the  circle  several 
times,  the  tops  of  the  grain  lay  together  in  a  con- 
venient bunch.  This  succulent  sheaf  he  dragged 
down,  and  devoured  with  relish. 

When  he  had  abundantly  satisfied  his  craving  for 
young  oats,  he  crawled  out  upon  the  open  sward 
by  the  fence,  and  carelessly  sampled  the  bark  of  a 
seedling  apple-tree.  While  he  was  thus  engaged 
a  big,  yellow  dog  came  trotting  up  the  wood-road, 
poking  his  nose  inquisitively  into  every  bush  and 
stump  in  the  hope  of  finding  a  rabbit  or  chipmunk 
to  chase.  He  belonged  to  the  young  farmer  who 
owned  the  oat-field;  and  when,  through  the  rails 
of  the  snake  fence,  he  caught  sight  of  the  porcupine, 
he  was  filled  with  noisy  wrath.  Barking  and  yelp- 
ing, —  partly  with  excitement,  and  partly  as  a  sig- 
nal to  his  master  who  was  trudging  along  the  road 
far  behind  him,  —  he  clambered  over  the  fence,  and 
bore  down  upon  the  trespasser. 

The  porcupine  was  not  greatly  disturbed  by  this 
loud  onslaught,  but  he  did  not  let  confidence  make 


fn  panoply  of  Spears  361 

him  careless.  He  calmly  tucked  his  head  under 
his  breast,  set  his  quills  in  battle  array,  and  awaited 
the  event  with  composure. 

Had  he  discovered  the  porcupine  in  the  free 
woods,  the  yellow  dog  would  have  let  him  severely 
alone.  But  in  his  master's  oat-field,  that  was  a  dif- 
ferent matter.  Moreover,  the  knowledge  that  his 
master  was  coming  added  to  his  zeal  and  rashness; 
and  he  had  long  cherished  the  ambition  to  kill  a 
porcupine.  He  sprang  forward,  open- jawed,  — 
and  stopped  short  when  his  fangs  were  just  within 
an  inch  or  two  of  those  bristling  and  defiant  points. 
Caution  had  come  to  his  rescue  just  in  time. 

For  perhaps  half  a  minute  he  ran,  whining  and 
baffled,  around  the  not-to-be  daunted  ball  of  spines. 
Then  he  sat  down  upon  his  haunches,  lifted  up  his 
muzzle,  and  howled  for  his  master  to  come  and 
help  him. 

As  his  master  failed  to  appear  within  three  sec- 
onds, his  impatience  got  the  better  of  him,  and  he 
again  began  running  around  the  porcupine,  snapping 
fiercely,  but  never  coming  within  two  or  three  inches 
of  the  militant  points.  For  a  few  moments  these 
two  or  three  inches  proved  to  be  a  safe  distance. 
Such  a  distance  from  the  shoulders,  back,  and  sides 
was  all  well  enough.  But  suddenly,  he  was  so  mis- 


36*          ftbe  Ifcinfcrefc  of  tbe 

guided  as  to  bring  his  teeth  together  within  a  couple 
of  inches  of  the  armed  but  quiescent  tail.  This  was 
the  instant  for  which  the  porcupine  had  been  wait- 
ing. The  tail  flicked  smartly.  The  big  dog  jumped, 
gave  a  succession  of  yelping  cries,  pawed  wildly 
at  his  nose,  then  tucked  his  tail  between  his  legs, 
scrambled  over  the  fence,  and  fled  away  to  his  mas- 
ter. The  porcupine  unrolled  himself,  and  crawled 
into  an  inviting  hole  in  the  old  stone  wall. 

About  ten  minutes  later  a  very  angry  man,  armed 
with  a  fence-stake,  appeared  at  the  edge  of  the 
clearing  with  a  cowed  dog  at  his  heels.  He  wanted 
to  find  the  porcupine  which  had  stuck  those  quills 
into  his  dog's  nose.  Mercifully  merciless,  he  had 
held  the  howling  dog  in  a  grip  of  iron  while  he 
pulled  out  the  quills  with  his  teeth;  and  now  he 
was  after  vengeance.  Knowing  a  little,  but  not 
everything,  about  porcupines,  he  searched  every 
tree  in  the  immediate  neighbourhood,  judging  that 
the  porcupine,  after  such  an  encounter,  would  make 
all  haste  to  his  natural  retreat.  But  he  never  looked 
in  the  hole  in  the  wall;  and  the  yellow  dog,  who 
had  come  to  doubt  the  advisability  of  finding  por- 
cupines, refused  firmly  to  assist  in  the  search.  In  a 
little  while,  when  his  anger  began  to  cool,  he  gave 
over  the  hunt  in  disgust,  threw  away  the  fence- 


1fn  panoply  of  Spears 


363 


stake,  bit  off  a  goodly  chew  from  the  fig  of  black 
tobacco  which  he  produced  from  his  hip-pocket,  and 
strode  away  up  the  grassy  wood-road. 

For  perhaps  half  an  hour  the  porcupine  dozed  in 
the  hole  among  the  stones.  Then  he  woke  up, 
crawled  out,  and  moved  slowly  along  the  top  of  the 
wall. 

There  was  a  sound  of  children's  voices  coming  up 
the  road;  but  the  porcupine,  save  for  a  grumble 
of  impatience,  paid  no  attention.  Presently  the 
children  came  in  sight,  —  a  stocky  little  boy  of  nine 
or  ten,  and  a  lank  girl  of  perhaps  thirteen,  making 
their  way  homeward  from  school  by  the  short  cut 
over  the  mountain.  Both  were  barefooted  and  bare- 
legged, deeply  freckled,  and  with  long,  tow-coloured 
locks.  The  boy  wore  a  shirt  and  short  breeches 
of  blue-gray  homespun,  the  breeches  held  up  pre- 
cariously by  one  suspender.  On  his  head  was  a 
tattered  and  battered  straw;  and  in  one  hand  he 
swung  a  little  tin  dinner-pail.  The  girl  wore  the 
like  blue-gray  homespun  for  a  petticoat,  with  a 
waist  of  bright  red  calico,  and  carried  a  limp  pink 
sunbonnet  on  her  arm. 

"  Oh,  see  the  porkypine !  "  cried  the  girl,  as  they 
came  abreast  of  the  stone  wall. 

"  By  gosh !   Let's  kill  it !  "  exclaimed  the  stocky 


364          Ube  TRfufcrefc  of  tbe 

little  boy,  starting  forward  eagerly,  with  a  prompt 
efflorescence  of  primitive  instincts.  But  his  sister 
clutched  him  by  the  arm  and  anxiously  restrained 
him. 

"  My  lands,  Jimmy,  you  musn't  go  near  a  porky- 
pine  like  that !  "  she  protested,  more  learned  than 
her  brother  in  the  hoary  myths  of  the  settlements. 
"  Don't  you  know  he  can  fling  them  quills  of  his'n 
at  you,  an'  they'll  go  right  through  an'  come  out 
the  other  side?" 

"  By  gosh !  "  gasped  the  boy,  eyeing  the  uncon- 
cerned animal  with  apprehension,  and  edging  off  to 
the  furthermost  ditch.  Hand  in  hand,  their  eyes 
wide  with  excitement,  the  two  children  passed  be- 
yond the  stone  wall.  Then,  as  he  perceived  that  the 
porcupine  had  not  seemed  to  notice  them,  the  boy's 
hunting  instinct  revived.  He  stopped,  set  down  the 
tin  dinner-pail,  and  picked  up  a  stone. 

"  No,  you  don't,  Jimmy !  "  intervened  the  girl, 
with  mixed  emotions  of  kindliness  and  caution,  as 
she  grabbed  his  wrist  and  dragged  him  along. 

"Why,  Sis?"  protested  the  boy,  hanging  back, 
and  looking  over  his  shoulder  longingly.  "  Jest 
let  me  fling  a  stone  at  him !  " 

"  No !  "  said  his  sister,  with  decision.  "  He  ain't 
a-hurtin'  us,  an'  he's  mindin'  his  own  business.  An* 


1Fn  panoply  of  Spears  365 

I  reckon  maybe  he  can  fling  quills  as  fur  as  you  can 
fling  stones ! " 

Convinced  by  this  latter  argument,  the  boy  gave 
up  his  design,  and  suffered  his  wise  sister  to  lead 
him  away  from  so  perilous  a  neighbourhood.  The 
two  little  figures  vanished  amid  the  green  glooms 
beyond  the  clearing,  and  the  porcupine  was  left 
untroubled  in  his  sovereignty. 

ii. 

That  autumn,  late  one  moonlight  night,  the  por- 
cupine was  down  by  a  little  forest  lake  feasting  on 
lily  pads.  He  occupied  a  post  of  great  advantage, 
a  long,  narrow  ledge  of  rock  jutting  out  into  the 
midst  of  the  lilies,  and  rising  but  an  inch  or  two 
above  the  water.  Presently,  to  his  great  indigna- 
tion, he  heard  a  dry  rustling  of  quills  behind  him, 
and  saw  another  porcupine  crawl  out  upon  his  rock. 
He  faced  about,  bristling  angrily  and  gnashing  his 
teeth,  and  advanced  to  repel  the  intruder. 

The  intruder  hesitated,  then  came  on  again  with 
confidence,  but  making  no  hostile  demonstrations 
whatever.  When  the  two  met,  the  expected  con- 
flict was  by  some  sudden  agreement  omitted.  They 
touched  blunt  noses,  squeaked  and  grunted  together 
for  awhile  till  a  perfect  understanding  was  estab- 


366          trfoe  ikfnfcrefc  of  tbe 

lished;  then  crawled  ashore  and  left  the  lily  pads 
to  rest,  broad,  shiny,  and  unruffled  in  the  moon- 
light, little  platters  of  silver  on  the  dark  glass  of 
the  lake. 

The  newcomer  was  a  female ;  and  with  such  brief 
wooing  the  big  porcupine  had  taken  her  for  his  mate. 
Now  he  led  her  off  to  show  her  the  unequalled  den 
which  he  had  lately  discovered.  The  den  was  high 
in  the  side  of  a  heap  of  rocks,  dry  in  all  weathers, 
and  so  overhung  by  a  half-uprooted  tree  as  to  be 
very  well  concealed  from  passers  and  prowlers.  Its 
entrance  was  long  and  narrow,  deterrent  to  rash 
investigators.  In  fact,  just  after  the  porcupine  had 
moved  in,  a  red  fox  had  discovered  the  doorway 
and  judged  it  exactly  to  his  liking;  but  on  finding 
that  the  occupant  was  a  porcupine,  he  had  hastily 
decided  to  seek  accommodation  elsewhere.  In  this 
snug  house  the  two  porcupines  settled  contentedly 
for  the  winter. 

The  winter  passed  somewhat  uneventfully  for 
them,  though  for  the  rest  of  the  wood-folk  it  was 
a  season  of  unwonted  hardship.  The  cold  was  more 
intense  and  more  implacable  than  had  been  known 
about  the  settlements  for  years.  Most  of  the  wild 
creatures,  save  those  who  could  sleep  the  bitter 
months  away  and  abide  the  coming  of  spring,  found 


f  n  panoply  of  Spears  367 

themselves  face  to  face  with  famine.  But  the  por- 
cupines feared  neither  famine  nor  cold.  The  brown 
fur  beneath  their  quills  was  thick  and  warm,  and 
hunger  was  impossible  to  them  with  all  the  trees 
of  the  forest  for  their  pasturage.  Sometimes,  when 
the  cold  made  them  sluggish,  they  would  stay  all 
day  and  all  night  in  a  single  balsam-fir  or  hemlock, 
stripping  one  branch  after  another  of  leaf  and  twig, 
indifferent  to  the  monotony  of  their  diet.  At  other 
times,  however,  they  were  as  active  and  enterprising 
as  if  all  the  heats  of  summer  were  loosing  their 
sinews.  On  account  of  the  starvation-madness  that 
was  everywhere  ranging  the  coverts,  they  were  more 
than  once  attacked  as  they  crawled  lazily  over  the 
snow;  but  on  each  occasion  the  enemy,  whether 
lynx  or  fox,  fisher  or  mink,  withdrew  discomfited, 
with  something  besides  hunger  in  his  hide  to  think 
about. 

Once,  in  midwinter,  they  found  a  prize  which 
added  exquisite  variety  to  their  bill  of  fare.  Hav- 
ing wandered  down  to  the  outskirts  of  the  settle- 
ments, they  discovered,  cast  aside  among  the  bushes, 
an  empty  firkin  which  had  lately  contained  salt 
pork.  The  wood,  saturated  with  brine,  was  de- 
licious to  the  porcupines.  Greedily  they  gnawed  at 
it,  returning  night  after  night  to  the  novel  banquet 


368  Ube  ftfufcrefc  of  tbe 

till  the  last  sliver  of  the  flavoured  wood  was  gone. 
Then,  after  lingering  a  day  or  two  longer  in  the 
neighbourhood,  expecting  another  miracle,  they  re- 
turned to  their  solitudes  and  their  hemlock. 

When  winter  was  drawing  near  its  close,  but 
spring  had  not  yet  sent  the  wilderness  word  of  her 
coming,  the  porcupines  got  her  message  in  their 
blood.  They  proclaimed  it  abroad  in  the  early  twi- 
light from  the  tops  of  the  high  hemlocks,  in  queer, 
half -rhythmical  choruses  of  happy  grunts  and 
squeaks.  The  sound  was  far  from  melodious,  but 
it  pleased  every  one  of  the  wild  kindred  to  whose 
ears  it  came;  for  they  knew  that  when  the  porcu- 
pines got  trying  to  sing,  then  the  spring  thaws  were 
hurrying  up  from  the  south. 

At  last  the  long  desired  one  came ;  and  every  lit- 
tle rill  ran  a  brawling  brook  in  the  fulness  of  its 
joy.  And  the  ash-buds  swelled  rich  purple;  and  the 
maples  crimsoned  with  their  misty  blooms ;  and  the 
skunk  cabbage  began  to  thrust  up  bold  knobs  of 
emerald,  startling  in  their  brightness,  through  the 
black  and  naked  leaf-mould  of  the  swamp.  And 
just  at  this  time,  when  all  the  wild  kindred,  from  the 
wood-mouse  to  the  moose,  felt  sure  that  life  was 
good,  a  porcupine  baby  was  born  in  the  snug  den 
among  the  rocks. 


"A    WEASEL   GLIDED    NOISELESSLY    UP    TO   THE   DOOR   OF    THE 

DEN." 


•ffn  fcanopis  of  Spears  37* 

It  was  an  astonishingly  big  baby,  —  the  biggest, 
in  proportion  to  the  size  of  its  parents,  of  all  the 
babies  of  the  wild.  In  fact  it  was  almost  as  big 
as  an  average  bear  cub.  It  was  covered  with  long, 
dark  brown,  silky  fur,  under  which  the  future  pan- 
oply of  spear-points  was  already  beginning  to  make 
way  through  the  tender  skin.  Its  mother  was  very 
properly  proud,  and  assiduous  in  her  devotion.  And 
the  big  father,  though  seemingly  quite  indifferent, 
kept  his  place  contentedly  in  the  den  instead  of  going 
off  sourly  by  himself  to  another  lair  as  the  porcupine 
male  is  apt  to  do  on  the  arrival  of  the  young. 

One  evening  about  dusk,  when  the  young  porcu- 
pine was  but  three  days  old,  a  weasel  glided  noise- 
lessly up  to  the  door  of  the  den,  and  sniffed.  His 
eyes,  set  close  together  and  far  down  toward  his 
malignant,  pointed  nose,  were  glowing  red  with 
the  lust  of  the  kill.  Fierce  and  fearless  as  he  was, 
he  knew  well  enough  that  a  porcupine  was  some- 
thing for  him  to  let  alone.  But  this,  surely,  was 
his  chance  to  feed  fat  an  ancient  grudge;  for  he 
hated  everything  that  he  could  not  hope  to  kill. 
He  had  seen  the  mother  porcupine  feeding  comfort- 
ably in  the  top  of  a  near-by  poplar.  And  now  he 
made  assurance  doubly  sure  by  sniffing  at  her  trail, 
which  came  out  from  the  den  and  did  not  return.  As 


372          ftbe  Ifcfnbreb  of  tbe  Wilt) 

for  the  big  male  porcupine,  the  prowler  took  it  for 
granted  that  he  had  followed  the  usage  of  his  kind, 
and  gone  off  about  other  business.  Like  a  snake, 
he  slipped  in,  and  found  the  furry  baby  all  alone. 
There  was  a  strong,  squeaking  cry,  a  moment's 
struggle;  and  then  the  weasel  drank  eagerly  at  the 
blood  of  his  easy  prey.  The  blood,  and  the  fierce 
joy  of  the  kill,  were  all  he  wanted,  for  his  hunting 
was  only  just  begun. 

The  assassin  stayed  but  a  minute  with  his  victim, 
then  turned  swiftly  to  the  door  of  the  den.  But  the 
door  was  blocked.  It  was  filled  by  an  ominous, 
bristling  bulk,  which  advanced  upon  him  slowly, 
inexorably,  making  a  sharp,  clashing  sound  with 
its  long  teeth.  The  big  porcupine  had  come  home. 
And  his  eyes  blazed  more  fiercely  red  than  those 
of  the  weasel. 

The  weasel,  fairly  caught,  felt  that  doom  was 
upon  him.  He  backed  away,  over  the  body  of  his 
victim,  to  the  furthest  depth  of  the  den.  But, 
though  a  ruthless  murderer,  the  most  cruel  of  all 
the  wild  kindred,  he  was  no  coward.  He  would 
evade  the  slow  avenger  if  he  could;  but  if  not,  he 
would  fight  to  the  last  gasp. 

Against  this  foe  the  porcupine  scorned  his  cus- 
tomary tactics,  and  depended  upon  his  terrible,  cut- 


In  panoply  of  Spears  373 

ting  teeth.  At  the  same  time  he  knew  that  the 
weasel  was  desperate  and  deadly.  Therefore  he 
held  his  head  low,  shielding  his  tender  throat. 
When  he  reached  the  wider  part  of  the  den,  he 
suddenly  swung  sidewise,  thus  keeping  the  exit 
still  blocked. 

Seeing  now  that  there  was  no  escape,  the  weasel 
gathered  his  forces  for  one  last  fight.  Like  light- 
ning he  sprang,  and  struck ;  and  being,  for  speed, 
quite  matchless  among  the  wild  folk,  he  secured 
a  deadly  hold  on  the  porcupine's  jaw.  The  porcu- 
pine squeaked  furiously  and  tried  to  shake  his  ad- 
versary off.  With  a  sweep  of  his  powerful  neck, 
he  threw  the  weasel  to  one  side,  and  then  into  the 
air  over  his  head. 

The  next  instant  the  weasel  came  down,  sprawl- 
ing widely,  full  upon  the  stiffly  erected  spears  of  the 
porcupine's  back.  They  pierced  deep  into  his  tender 
belly.  With  a  shrill  cry  he  relaxed  his  hold  on  the 
avenger's  jaw,  shrank  together  in  anguish,  fell  to 
the  ground,  and  darted  to  the  exit.  As  he  passed 
he  got  a  heavy  slap  from  the  porcupine's  tail,  which 
filled  his  face  and  neck  with  piercing  barbs.  Then 
he  escaped  from  the  den  ana  fled  away  toward  his 
own  lair,  carrying  his  death  with  him.  Before  he 
had  gone  a  hundred  yards  one  of  the  quills  in  his 


374          Ube  Ikinbreb  of  tbe 

belly  reached  a  vital  part.  He  faltered,  fell,  stretched 
his  legs  out  weakly,  and  died.  Then  a  red  squirrel, 
who  had  been  watching  him  in  a  quiver  of  fear 
and  hate,  shot  from  his  hiding-place,  ran  wildly  up 
and  down  his  tree,  and  made  the  woods  ring  with 
his  sharp,  barking  chatter  of  triumph  over  the  death 
of  the  universal  enemy. 

In  the  midst  of  the  squirrel's  shrill  rejoicings  the 
porcupine  emerged  from  his  den.  He  seemed  to 
hesitate,  which  is  not  the  way  of  a  porcupine.  He 
looked  at  his  mate,  still  foraging  in  the  top  of  her 
poplar,  happily  unaware  for  the  present  of  how  her 
little  world  had  changed.  He  seemed  to  realise  that 
the  time  of  partings  had  come,  the  time  when  he 
must  resume  his  solitude.  He  turned  and  looked 
at  his  den,  —  he  would  never  find  another  like  it ! 
Then  he  crawled  off  through  the  cool,  wet  woods, 
where  the  silence  seemed  to  throb  sweetly  with  the 
stir  and  fulness  of  the  sap.  And  in  a  hollow  log, 
not  far  from  the  bee-tree  on  the  knoll,  he  found 
himself  a  new  home,  small  and  solitary. 


THE   END. 


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